The Miracle Girl Read online

  Someone coughed behind me. I turned around to see my new assistant, Avery Fleischer, standing in the doorway. At first glance, Avery was an intimidating woman. A black belt in karate, she had recently returned from three weeks in Israel, where she attended an intensive and elite Krav Maga training program. Her black hair was slicked back into a ponytail. With her intense stare and rigid posture, she looked like she should be protecting the President of the United States. She was like a chameleon and could fill many roles: protector, business woman, spy, and so much more.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Cavendish, but they’re ready downstairs.” Avery flashed an apologetic, uncertain smile that managed to come across as confident. Her sweet voice didn’t fit her physical prowess. I wondered if this was part of her training. She was slightly taller than I was, meaning she was still considered short by most, considering my petite frame.

  “Yes, of course, Avery. Thank you, and please call me JJ.” I turned from the ambitious twenty-seven-year-old. Avery had moved with me from New York and had never been west of the Mississippi. She was a New Yorker, through and through. Why the higher-ups had sent an “outsider” to Denver, Colorado baffled me. Not that Denver was a cultural backwater. Colorado was an interesting mix of new and old. Denver was progressive, but a drive to some of the outlying rural areas less than thirty miles away still felt like stepping back a few decades. Avery had never been to Buffalo, New York, let alone a city like Denver. She knew two places well: Israel and New York City. We hadn’t worked closely back East, but I admired the young woman from afar.

  Young woman. I chuckled to myself in the elevator, turning my head so Avery wouldn’t see. Young woman … I was only forty-four. Not that much older. At least I didn’t feel that much older‌—‌most days.

  No one, except the people in the know, had any idea that I was in the building already. The vice president of the company wanted to make the announcement to the entire staff of Mile High at a morning meeting. The previous publisher, a fifty-year-old New Jersey man named Henry Wilcox, wasn’t popular and had only lasted seven months. The staff rebelled against the outsider who didn’t understand their ways and the ways of the West. According to Cora, he was too blunt, caustic, and demanding. The New Jersey man had kept trying to ram down everyone’s throat how things were done in the East. He came across more like Tony Soprano and not a refined publisher. The staff thought their ways were just fine. Henry countered by saying if that was the case why did they have to lay off fifty people the previous quarter. He continued by stating the obvious: the paper was dying and there was no way around it. Even if the assessment was correct, his lack of tact was detrimental to his success. Cora wanted me to use more finesse.

  You could say those things where he came from since folks were used to leaders with an iron fist. You couldn’t in Denver. Here, people were polite. If you stumbled upon someone on the sidewalk, it was customary to say hello and possibly stop to chat about the weather. Coloradoans love to discuss the weather. Some days all four seasons could be experienced in a span of twelve hours and, even though this happened all of the time, it still fascinated them. New Yorkers never stopped for idle chitchat. Hell, even making eye contact was unusual. If one did and then added a hello, the recipient would cringe and more than likely consider the friendly person a fruitcake or a deranged psychopath.

  The higher-ups realized they needed an insider to save the paper if that was possible. I questioned their motives. I hadn’t been home, except for the occasional quick trip to say hello to my folks, in twenty years. What did I know about Colorado anymore? I could discuss the mating habits of lions, or describe walking through the spray of Victoria Falls, but the Denver Broncos, Greeley Stampede days, ski reports, and a million other things associated with my home state now escaped me. Cora disagreed and told me to pack my bags. I had one week before I started my new job.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been shipped off to a fledging office. But it was the first time I was to become the publisher and stay for a while. Usually I arrived, assessed the situation, helped trim the fat, and put an action plan in motion to get them back on track or to close the doors.

  I stood off to the side out of sight as I listened to the vice president’s introduction. Hearing people describe me to a large group was an uncomfortable experience. “She has an incredible knack for being at the right place at the right time. Over twenty years ago, she was in Berlin when the wall fell down.”

  I thought about my backpacking trip in Europe. What that had cost me. Bill Trent, the vice president of Beale Media Corp, was touting Berlin as one of the greatest triumphs in my life. No one knew the truth, not even my parents, whom I was extremely close with, but I could never tell them how close I came to staying in Colorado. My parents were proud of my achievements, but I knew deep down they wished I had stayed home. They loved visiting with me all over the world, but ultimately how many parents wanted their child thousands of miles away?

  Bill rambled on about other achievements in my career. I knew he was close to his favorite part. I braced for it. “The CEO of the company, Cora Matthews, has sent JJ the Miracle Girl to turn things around here. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome JJ Cavendish.” The vice president turned to me, clapping. I stood frozen. Miracle girl. Why did everyone have to seize on the nickname Cora had given me years ago? Just thinking about the reason …

  Avery nudged me forward with her shoulder, and I went into business mode. Many didn’t realize that being a good boss meant one had to be a good showman. I tugged my black blazer to ensure it was straight and stepped onto the stage to speak to the staff.

  “Thanks, Bill, for all the kind words, and at least sixty-five percent was true.” Bill laughed heartily, and the crowd joined in.

  I turned to the employees sitting on folding chairs in the small auditorium, and as I spoke my eyes wandered over their faces. Eye contact was another key to success. People wanted to feel a connection. Slowly, I prattled on about how we would make a good team. I had given this speech so many times I didn’t have to think. My brain switched to autopilot. I used to travel the world for stories. Now I traveled to cities to save or cut jobs.

  Then I saw her.

  No, it couldn’t be. I always thought I saw Claire. Sometimes when getting out of a cab in New York I would sprint after a woman, convinced it was Claire, only to be disappointed.

  Claire was gone. That dream was dead.

  I squinted to shield my eyes from the stage lights.

  It was Claire.

  Some murmuring came from the crowd, and I realized I had stopped speaking. Smiling awkwardly, I said, “Sorry, it’s just a bit overwhelming to be back home. It’s been such a long time. And to be in a room of people I feel like I know already and want to become reacquainted with … well, it’s awesome.” I spoke these words directly to Claire. When we were in school, Claire loved the word awesome. Everything was awesome.

  Standing there, less than fifty feet from her, I remembered her twenty-first birthday. She was never one for presents unless it was a tiny trinket. On her twenty-first I wrapped twenty-one gifts. Small mementos, such as a shot glass I stole from a bar we went to our freshman year. I could still hear her voice, “Oh, JJ, this is the most awesome birthday ever!”

  Bill stepped up, sensing he needed to come to my rescue. I was floundering and not making any sense. Did I just say, “It’s awesome?” This wasn’t the type of introduction headquarters wanted me to make.

  He patted me on the back. “If I know JJ, she was up all night reading reports.” He let out a fake laugh, and some of the brownnosers in the crowd joined in. “Please help yourselves to the donuts and coffee.” Bill motioned to the tables in the back, and it didn’t take long for the vultures to pounce on the free food, forgetting all about me, their fledging boss who couldn’t make it through a speech she could give on her death bed.

  Bill turned to me once the coast was clear. “You okay?”

  I laug
hed confidently and waved his concern away. “Yeah. I’m fine. Shall we mingle?” I took a deep cleansing breath and focused on the job at hand.

  To his relief, I instantly disappeared into the crowd to meet the workers, doing my best to block out all thoughts of Claire. At least for the next twenty or thirty minutes.

  I shook someone’s hand and concentrated when he told me his name was George Trindal and he was the head of local news. Before the week was out, I intended to know everyone by name. This was one of my special skills: remembering employees’ names, the names of their children, their pets’ names, where they went to school, and their hobbies.

  It didn’t take me long to settle into my groove. I noticed Claire watching from across the room. She nonchalantly made her way toward me and the small gathering. She was slender and barely looked a day over forty, even though I knew she was forty-four. Whatever she was doing to stay young was working. A group of people hung on my every word. Claire rolled her eyes, and I wondered if she was thinking that I hadn’t changed one bit. Back in the day, I was always the center of attention. Of course my reasoning had changed. In college I wanted to impress Claire. Today, I told stories about my adventures to avoid talking about my true self. I wanted to remain as anonymous as possible for someone who was often in the limelight, so I selected stories that wowed the crowd without revealing personal details about my life or past. As much as I hated the Miracle Girl label, I used it to my advantage to keep the real meaning hidden and the real me in the shadows.

  “So there I was in my room in Zambia … did I mention it didn’t have a wall at all in the front?” I paused to make sure the impact of my words sunk in. “It was about ten o’clock at night and even though it was freezing—”

  “Freezing? I thought it was hot there.” Brenda, the circulation director, interrupted. Her hair resembled a rat’s nest, and the bags under her eyes testified that she was a legit circulation director. Out of bed hours before normal people to ensure all the papers were delivered.

  “I was there during the winter, and let me tell you, at night it gets bloody cold.”

  Again Claire rolled her eyes. Was it my use of the word bloody? After spending two years in London for Beale Media Corp more than a decade ago, I couldn’t get out of the habit of using certain English words and phrases. I needed to be careful here. Coloradoans wouldn’t take to this. Not that they would hate an English person, but an American speaking like a Brit, that wouldn’t fly.

  “Does it warm up during the day?” pushed Brenda.

  I smiled at the woman, sensing she must be this nosy about everything, not just Africa. I would need to be careful around her. So far her questions were neutral, but my gut told me she was used to asking completely inappropriate questions in front of large groups. Maybe that was why she was stuck in circulation. “Yep. On average it was about seventy degrees during the day and then—”

  “Bloody cold at night,” Brenda interrupted again. Everyone was in a good mood, with the free donuts and coffee, so no one minded Brenda’s second interruption. Was this always the case? Brenda motioned for me to continue, which caused a smile to flit across Claire’s face. Claire’s eyes seemed wiser. No that wasn’t right. They seemed like she had grown up. As if she’d become her own woman, not one defined by those around her. I gave a slight tip of the head in Claire’s direction, but quickly looked back to the group. She looked stunning in her black pantsuit, and if she’d dressed like that back in the day, I would have tried harder to gain her affection. Success suited Claire. She exuded a calm confidence, and that turned me on.

  “Where was I?” Again I paused for effect, regretting doing so instantly. Claire would know what I was up to, and that put me on edge. “Yes, it was late at night and I was freezing to death. But I got this idea in my head that I wanted to take a bath in the middle of the African Bush, so I turned the water on as hot as it would go and eased in inch by inch.

  “The company put me up in this posh resort for a fluff travel piece.” I flinched when I said posh, not remembering if that was strictly an English word or if people across the pond used it now. “As I soaked in the tub, which was hidden behind this massive bed draped in elaborate mosquito netting that would have impressed the Queen of England, I sipped a glass of red wine and listened to Victoria Falls off in the distance. I remember thinking that life didn’t get much better than that.” Another pause, and then I added, “Then I heard it.”

  Brenda couldn’t contain herself and asked, “Heard what?” She took another bite of her second donut, chewing with her mouth open.

  “A lion.”

  Everyone gasped.

  “Was it in the room?” asked George, as he nervously peeked around the room like the lion might magically appear.

  “And you were naked?” queried Tim, an ads salesman. Even before he asked if I was naked I got the sense that he was a perv from the way he undressed all the women with his eyes, including Brenda. I almost punched him in the face when I saw him ogle Claire. He raised his coffee to his lips, and I focused on his hairy knuckles. Ugh!

  The group chuckled, and I blushed faintly. That was one of the dangers of telling this particular story to a large group. Odds were there was at least one perv.

  “Yes, Tim, completely naked.” I turned to George. “And no, the lion wasn’t in the room. But this lion roared, and when I say roared, I mean roared!”

  “Were you all alone?” asked Brenda.

  “I was.” I confirmed before taking a sip of my coffee, already bored with this story. How many times had I told it now? Ten? Twenty? Probably more. I almost laughed out loud thinking of the tiny voice in my head saying, “Focus on the lion, folks. Not on JJ.”

  I noticed with amusement that the younger eyes in the group showed disappointment that there was no real danger, and the older eyes glowed with envy over the luxury of taking a bath in the Bush. Perception changed drastically with age. The young always had notions of romance and adventure. The older folks seemed to relish independence and adventure.

  “Were you scared?” asked George, who looked like he would have been.

  “No. It was probably one of the most exhilarating experiences I’ve ever had. They say you can hear a lion’s roar several miles away, so odds were I wasn’t in any real danger.” I shrugged, and Bill approached the group, towering over everyone in his three-piece suit. A former NBA star, Bill got into the media biz when he blew his knee after only three years with the Knicks.

  “Did you tell them yet about the bear that attacked you?” Bill beamed over my ability to win people over, but I gathered he was trying to send me a message: tell stories about Colorado or the West, not Zambia. I bobbed my head slightly, indicating I understood. Bill’s swift nod back told me not to worry. One hour on the job and I already had the staff eating out of the palm of my hand. Just what headquarters wanted. An insider, who could also impress them. From the glint in his eyes, he’d already forgotten about my flubbed speech.

  “Not yet.” I smiled, knowing he was about to whisk me away, luckily.

  “Next time. I hate to do this folks, but JJ has a meeting with the mayor.” Bill motioned for me to walk before him to the elevator.

  There was some grumbling. Not only would they miss out on the bear story, but it also meant they had to return to work.

  Before allowing myself to be ushered away, I said, “No worries, I’ll tell you all soon. I would like to thank all of you for making me feel so welcome. This has been one of the most pleasant meetings I’ve had in a long time.” I half covered my mouth, giving the impression I didn’t want Bill and Avery to hear, and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s been years since I felt so comfortable. I’m used to East Coast people.” I winked.

  With that, I made my exit. When Bill and Avery weren’t looking, I glanced back to see Brenda loop her arm through Claire’s, and they shared a laugh. Interesting, but not surprising. My gut told me that Brenda was the freak at the paper, and Claire had a s
oft spot for underdogs, always befriending the friendless.

  Bill contained his smile until we were alone in the elevator. “Nice touch, Miracle Girl.”

  I cringed, not that he noticed. He and Avery were too busy typing on their company-issued Blackberries. At sixty-three, Bill wasn’t up with the times and only used his Blackberry. Watching the man hunt and peck on his laptop with his index fingers was painful. Bill’s way with people was how he’d climbed the corporate ladder. Kung Fu Avery’s brain and work ethic had gotten her here. She had her iPhone stacked underneath her company cell, and underneath both was her iPad. There were times when I saw her typing on one of her phones and on her iPad simultaneously, baffling me that she could manage. She could possibly become the youngest CEO of the company. Cora taught me early on that I should never fear having competent people around. Surround myself with the best and reap the rewards as the team leader.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning, after a day filled with tedious meet-and-greet appointments, I pulled into the parking lot at 5:30 a.m. I was wiped out. After returning to my hotel the previous night, I sat on the balcony and replayed that last night with Claire in my head. Not just the leaving, but the whole night, trying to pinpoint exactly where I went wrong. It was torture, and my therapist would have reprimanded me if she knew. Living in the past wouldn’t help me conquer my demons and move forward.

  Sitting in my car, I reached down deep to find the strength to head to my office and become JJ Cavendish, the publisher. Not many knew I started my day before sunrise. It was a habit I began right from the start. I was careful not to send too many e-mails before 7:00 a.m. except to those I wanted to impress, but I drafted all of my e-mails first thing and then sent them out promptly at seven. In the beginning I did this so I wouldn’t come across as trying too hard, except to those who needed to be dazzled. Now I enjoyed keeping my secret. I didn’t like to share a lot about myself, really. I spun a few yarns now and then about my travels to maintain an image, but my personal life was out of the question, and that included the fact that I was a morning person.