Can't Help Falling in Love

Can’t
Help Falling in Love

 
Carol
Dunitz
& David W. Menefee

~

Menefee Publishing, Inc.

Dallas
,
Texas
,
USA

Can’t
Help Falling in Love
Copyright © 2013 Carol
Dunitz
and David W. Menefee.
Adapted from
Already Spoken For
by Carol
Dunitz
, Copyright @ 1995, published by The Last Word,
Ann Arbor
,
MI
.
All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be reproduced or distributed, in print, recorded, live, or digital
form, without express written permission of the copyright holder. Excerpts of
up to 500 words may be reproduced if they include the following information,
“This is an excerpt from
Can’t Help Falling in Love
by Carol
Dunitz
and David W. Menefee.
For permission, contact either Carol
Dunitz
[email protected] or (312) 523-4774,
or
 David
W. Menefee PO
BOX
181662 Dallas, TX 75218. All photographs
and illustrations are from the personal collection of David W. Menefee. All
excerpts are used in editorial fashion with no intention of infringement of
intellectual property rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

    
Allison loved driving in her new cherry red 1954 Chevy
BelAir
convertible, and this cool, crisp autumn morning offered the perfect
opportunity to put the top down. The sky was clear and crystal blue. The nippy
air was exhilarating and the wind blew her long wavy red hair. She admired the
beauty of the trees as she whizzed past them. Some were already barren, yet
others retained the vibrant crimsons, rusts, and yellows in their leaves.
Nature’s beauty never failed to awaken her ardent passion for life.

    
Women
aren’t supposed to get as excited as a man about a car,
she mused,
but this is the first car I’ve
ever bought that hasn’t been used, and I love tooling around in it! Besides, it
has all the bells and whistles that I’ve ever dreamed of, and
it’s
fun to drive!

    
Allison pulled her favorite peach-colored suede coat tight at her neck to block
the biting wind. The coat never failed to earn compliments, and she had always
looked good in reds and oranges. They highlighted her hair and exquisitely fair
complexion.

    
She turned onto a winding street that led to a new industrial park, where her
typesetter had relocated several months earlier. She had been working with
Bill, the owner, since she started in the marketing business about a year ago,
and he had shown her the ropes. Having grown up in
Memphis
, he knew who was best at everything, and
she valued his tutoring. In many ways, he reminded her of her father, Andrew
Webster, who had dominated the
Memphis
advertising world for years before
advancing to a new position managing national advertising for
The
Ed Sullivan Show
in
New York
.

    
Allison had boldly decided to open up her own office as soon as she was out of
college. Having grown up in the business, she believed, perhaps foolishly, that
her know-how would bolster her success from the start, but offering her
services to small businesses that could not afford to retain the large firms in
town had proved challenging.

    
The concept had been good, but the going was rough—particularly this first
year. She discovered that success took more than a good education, talent, and
a father in the business. Being the daughter of a locally prominent ad man opened
some doors, but now she had to succeed by her own talent and wits, or fail. She
had to be as self-assured as a pro, be willing to work extra hard, and be able
to take an aggressive stance with members of the business community. She had
been willing to make the necessary commitment. She was weathering the lean
times and earned
a few kudos,
but she could not pay
the electric bill with kudos. She had to grow her small but challenging list of
clients.

    
I’ve
got to secure some new clients!
she
thought, as she approached the large, gray brick
building where Bill had his shop. She squeezed into a small space near the
road, and then rushed to the entrance with one hand holding tight to her purse
and briefcase. With the other, she pushed the door open and scooted
inside. 

    
Bill was in the outer office discussing a job with Mark, one of his employees.
Both men were perched on stools and engrossed in some rough layouts spread out
on a table.

    
“
Brrr
!”
Allison said,
feeling a chill dance up her spine and down her arms. She set her things down
while hanging her overcoat on a brass rack by the door. “It’s unseasonably cold
for mid-September, isn’t it Bill?” 

    
Bill stood up to heartily greet her. His six-foot two-inch, 250-pound frame
immediately dominated the entire room.  “Good morning!” he said. “We
haven’t seen much of you this past week. Glad you stopped by. We’re just
finishing up here.”

    
“Oh, don’t mind me. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just check my phone for
messages while you two finish. Can I use your phone?”

    
“You know you don’t have to ask,” Bill reassured her.  “There’s coffee and
donuts in the back if you want some.”

    
Allison straightened out the bow of her blue silk blouse and pulled her tweed
suit jacket back into place before crossing to the far side of the room and
placing her purse on the coffee table. Both men watched her after she passed,
admiring her fresh, wholesome appearance. She felt their eyes on her. She
enjoyed the fact that men appreciated the effort she took to present a feminine
yet businesslike image. At twenty-four, love was something Allison considered
precious, particularly because love had eluded her, so far. She reached for the
coffee pot and surveyed the donuts.
It’ll take more than admiration
from co-workers to keep me happy. It takes love. I wonder if I’ll ever meet Mr.
Right. He sure isn’t anywhere in the world of advertising!

    
She could hear Bill picking up where he had left off when she came in. When she
returned with a mug of black coffee and a glazed donut, the two men were so
involved with their work that they had tuned her out. She pulled out a ring
binder from her leather handbag, quickly reviewed the notes she had made the
preceding day, and then reached for the wall phone and dialed her answering
service.

    
“This is Allison Webster. Do you have any messages for me this morning?”

    
“One moment please. Miss Webster, there’s just one message.”

    
“Just one?
Please read it to me.”

    
“A man called wanting to see you. The morning girl took the call and her
handwriting’s terrible. I can’t quite read his name. It looks something like
Alvin, Elton, Elrod, or something like that . . . .”

    
“Go on.”

    
“That’s all there is.”

    
Allison tried not to show her annoyance, but she had to carp, “What do you mean
that’s all? If he said he wanted marketing help, he’ll be a new client for me.
I’ll need a last name and a number!”

    
“The morning girl didn’t get a last name. I’m so sorry!”

    
“This is the second time she’s done this to me!”

    
“I’m sorry.”

    
Allison sighed and licked the nub of her pen. “Okay, read me his number.” She
carefully copied down the numerals, but then she sensed that Bill and Mark were
watching her, and she looked up. 

    
Bill chuckled, even though he was intrigued. “Looks like you may have hit the
jackpot, little lady! It sure would be terrific to start the week off with a
new client!”

    
“If you don’t want him,” Mark said, “send him to us. We’ll take all the new
business we can get!”

    
Allison spoke with guarded enthusiasm. “Now
fellas
,
let’s not get all excited about this before I find out what this mysterious new
prospect with no last name actually called about.  It may be nothing!”

    
Bill quickly retorted. “Then again, it could be the start of something big! Why
don’t you go back in my private office and return the call? But first, calm
down!”

    
“You’re both right. I’m grateful for any new business. It’s just that I like to
make a good first impression when I approach a new prospect, and it’s hard to
springboard to perfection when the girl at the call center can’t even give me a
clue
who
he is!”

    
Bill teased, “You’re perfect the way you are.”

    
She winked at him and said, “But I can be a witch before my morning coffee,
especially when I have to call someone I don’t know who contacted me from out
of the blue!”

    
With her appointment book in hand, she took advantage of Bill’s offer to tuck
herself away in his private work space. As she closed the door, she turned
around and her jaw dropped. Papers were strewn all over every surface. She was
hard-pressed to find a spot amidst the appalling clutter to even set down her
things. A manual typewriter veiled in an inch of dust sat forlornly to one side
of the desk.
Unmailed
invoices were piled in his
chair. Half-eaten sandwiches and soft drink bottles dotted the tops of every
file cabinet. Bill’s office looked as if the room had been struck twice by a
tornado.

    
Allison sighed and pulled his chair up to a drawing board positioned at a right
angle to his desk. She restacked his invoices in a neat pile and sat.
How
can I best present myself to this mysterious potential client with no name?
He
probably wants me to make a presentation to him, but how did he come to call
me?

    
She picked up the telephone
and started to dial him, but before the connection was made, she hung up. She
was uncharacteristically nervous.
Why am I so jittery?
she
wondered.
What
makes this message so different from any other message I’ve gotten lately?
Allison, regain your composure and call him now!

    
She dialed again and a gravelly-voiced older woman answered, “How can I help
you?”

    
“My name’s Allison Webster with Webster Marketing. Someone named
Alvin
or Elrod called me. I hope he’s still
in.”