Unstoppable
Meredith Winslow scribbled her name on the inside cover of the home decorating book thrust in front of her. When she was still a student at college, she used to practice signing her name, in hopes of becoming famous. She would take her time and make each letter legible. When the first of her readers asked for her autograph, her heart nearly burst with joy. By the time her name and face were recognizable to millions of readers and television viewers, however, fame had already lost its luster.
The hands on her diamond-studded Chanel watch indicated it was almost three o'clock, the scheduled end of the book-signing event. She glanced at the line in front of her, glad to see there were less than a dozen people waiting. An employee of the bookstore, as anxious as Meredith was to go home, stood at the end of the line, sending all latecomers away. To placate those customers not receiving autographs, the store handed out coupons for twenty percent off the author's soon-to-be-released holiday decorating DVD, 'Tis the Season.
At five minutes after three, the final person on line placed her open book on the table to be signed.
"I'm a big fan of yours!" the middle-aged woman gushed. "I've got all your books and every issue of your magazine. I've also seen every episode of your television program at least once—many of them several times."
Although Meredith politely thanked the fan for her loyalty, inwardly she cringed.
"I especially love your Halloween shows," the woman continued after getting back her autographed book. "You're so creative! Where do you get all your ideas?"
I really don't have time for this nonsensical chitchat, Meredith thought impatiently. I have a plane to catch.
"They just come to me," she said, smiling sweetly as she graciously tried to make an exit without offending the woman.
In truth, most of the ideas came from the talented staff of young designers, chefs and bakers in her employ; but more often than not, she took credit for their work.
"You should see my house! I have Meredith Winslow-designed sheets, blanket and comforter on my bed and your curtains on my windows. My kitchen is chock full of your dishware, pots and pans, baking products, cake decorating tools ...."
Won't this damned woman ever shut up?
"I'm terribly sorry," Meredith apologized, interrupting her fan, "but I really have to run. I'm on a tight schedule today. I have to catch a flight for New York."
The woman obviously could not take a hint since she followed television's favorite domestic diva out of the bookstore and to the curb where a chauffeured limousine was waiting to drive her to the airport.
"Of course! Being the CEO of your own international multimedia corporation, you must be a very busy woman. Honestly, I don't know how you do it. I don't suppose you have any time to stop and smell the roses."
"I always stop for roses," Meredith joked as she got into the back seat of the limo. "I then cut them and create a striking floral arrangement."
"Speaking of roses," her fan said, "here comes the florist delivery boy."
The young man recognized Meredith and handed her a large bouquet of brightly colored flowers.
"These are for you."
"Aren't they beautiful?" the woman asked as the author slammed the limo door in her face.
"Drive!" Meredith told the chauffeur.
The successful author, television personality and businesswoman was not willing to waste any more time on her annoying fan. After all, there was a mountain of work for her to do. Paying no attention to the sights outside the limo's tinted windows, she tossed the flowers onto the seat beside her and reached into her briefcase for her laptop and a bottle of VEEN mineral water, which came from the springs of the Kingdom of Bhutan in the eastern Himalayas and cost roughly ten times the price of Dasani and Aquafina.
As Meredith was making a list of the recipes she wanted to include in her next cookbook, her cell phone rang. She knew by the ringtone it was Dennis O'Mara, her husband, calling.
"What is it?" she asked impatiently.
"Is that any way to answer a phone? What happened to hello?"
"I don't have time for polite greetings. I've got a million things to do. What do you want?"
"Did you get my flowers?"
"Yes, I did. Thank you; they're lovely."
Dennis knew by her monotone that there was no emotion behind her words. There rarely was.
"I also wanted to remind you that we have tickets for the mayor's charity ball tonight."
"You couldn't just send me a text message?"
"Is it so terrible that I want to hear your voice once in a while? Especially since we get to spend so little time together."
"Oh, please! You sound like a love-sick adolescent."
"Some women would like that in a husband."
"Well, I'm not one of them. I don't have time for it."
"It seems to me you don't have time for anything lately."
"Stop right there," Meredith warned. "I can't get into this now. I've got work to do. I'll see you at the ball tonight."
She ended the call, not bothering with a goodbye. Cordiality took too much time, and she needed to focus attention on her book. Hoping to avoid any further interruption, she slipped her phone back into her purse.
Ten minutes later, as she was writing a rough draft of the introduction to a chapter on meat-free entrees, she felt her eyes grow heavy. The long hours she worked sometimes caught up with her. What she needed was a good dose of caffeine, but she had no time to stop for coffee.
She finished her water and put the empty bottle into her purse. Since the airport was still a forty-minute drive away, possibly more if the traffic was heavy, she decided a quick catnap would suffice. Once she was aboard the plane, she would down a few cups of coffee and be recharged enough to attend the mayor's charity ball.
After closing her eyes, Meredith felt herself slip away. The sound of her cell phone momentarily disturbed her peaceful state. Too exhausted to answer it, she curled up on the back seat of the limo and promptly fell asleep.
In her dream, however, she answered the phone. It was her husband—not Dennis O'Mara, her current spouse, but Alec Clifford, her first husband. Hearing his voice took her back in time to her college days. The two had begun dating in their junior year. After graduation, they married. Although Meredith rarely admitted it, even to herself, those years with Alec were the happiest of her life.
In those days, ambition did not blind her to life's more precious moments. Despite her education and dreams of being a writer, the she was content to work as a secretary in a small publishing company, letting her job take a back seat to her marriage. It was not until she baked an assortment of holiday cookies and brought them to the office for her fellow employees that Meredith took the first step on her upward journey to becoming a multibillionaire businesswoman. Her cookies were so delicious that many people urged her to offer them for sale. She agreed, hoping to make some extra money to use for Christmas shopping.
Surprisingly, orders kept coming in even after the holiday season was over. People wanted cookies for Valentine's Day and Easter. There were also birthdays, Super Bowl parties and bridal and baby showers. Meredith soon expanded her product line to include cakes, pastries and pies. Customers sent her baked goods to military personnel serving overseas, took them to patients recuperating in the hospital and served them at after-funeral gatherings. Soon her home business was bringing in more money than her full-time job.
This proved to be a pivotal point in her life. There were just not enough hours in the day to be both a secretary and a baker.
"Why don't you hire someone to help you?" Alec suggested. "The two of you can split the work and the profits."
The feeling of outrage that momentarily flared up in Meredith made her realize her business meant so much more to her than just a money-making venture. She took great pride in her achievement. Many of the recipes were her own creations. She did not want to share any future success she might have with another baker.
"No," she announced, having come to her decision without consulting her husband. "I'm going to quit my secretarial job and devote all my energies to expanding my business."
"We're supposed to be saving for a house so that we can start a family." Alec objected. "What's going to happen if your sales go down?"
"Who says my sales will go down? I've got some great ideas for new recipes. And with Halloween and Thanksgiving right around the corner, and then Christmas after that—I anticipate my sales will be better than ever. I'm even thinking about opening my own shop."
"Where are you going to get that kind of money?"
"I can get a loan from the bank."
"You'll still need a down payment."
"I thought I'd use the money in our savings account. I know we wanted to put it toward a house, but I promise I'll put it all back once the business is on its feet."
Out of love for his wife, Alec agreed, never imagining that the home business she started would drive a wedge between them and eventually end their marriage.
* * *
Meredith's bakery did better than she ever hoped or dreamed possible. Unable to meet customer demands with a single shop, she opened three others. This expansion necessitated the hiring of professional bakers, shop assistants, cake decorators, store managers and administrative personnel. Even with a growing staff of employees to help shoulder the workload, Meredith devoted more time to her business than to her personal life. She rarely saw her husband, and when she did, they often spent their time together arguing.
With lack of money no longer an impediment, Alec saw no reason to delay starting a family. His wife, however, was far from ready to take on the responsibility of motherhood.
"I don't have the time for a baby now," she argued. "I've got two new bakeries opening up, my former boss at the publishing house wants to discuss a possible cookbook deal and Starbucks has shown an interest in selling my white chocolate lime cookies in all their coffee shops—that's more than twenty-five thousand locations worldwide! If that deal works out, I'll need to open a factory."
Although husband and wife still had deep feelings for each another, their marriage failed. A proud and fair man, Alec sought no monetary compensation from the divorce except his half of the savings account they had when his wife opened her first bakery. He eventually remarried, and he and his second wife moved to Pennsylvania where they raised their children in a modest but happy home.
Meredith's divorce was final for less than six months when she, too, walked down the aisle for the second time. Nearly everyone who read the announcement of the marriage assumed she was attracted to her husband's money rather than to the man himself, who was twenty years her senior. Such thinking was to be expected; he was, after all, Elias Winslow III. With a pedigree that went back to the Mayflower, husband number two was a pillar of New England society. Over the centuries, the illustrious Winslow family included governors, senators, judges, presidential candidates and industry titans. Yet while Elias's blood could not be any bluer, he was practically penniless. Thus, contrary to what people believed, he was the one who married for money.
Meredith's motives for entering into the union were nonetheless self-serving. It was her husband's name, not his bank account, she wanted. Within days of the wedding ceremony, her lawyers incorporated all her business ventures into one company: Meredith Winslow Enterprises. Even when her marriage to Elias ended five years later by mutual agreement, she legally retained his name—and it had cost her a pretty penny to do so!
At thirty years old, she was single once again, but her marital state did not sadden her in the least. Quite the opposite! She was well-pleased with her life and her many accomplishments. So far, she had forty-eight bakeries spread out over the six New England states as well as New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. She had also authored more than a dozen bestselling cookbooks, and the sales of her pre-packaged gourmet cookies not only pushed her net worth over the billion-dollar mark, but they also made her internationally famous.
For many women and men, such achievements would be enough, but not for Meredith Winslow. Like an addict, the more success she tasted, the more she craved. Once, while they were still man and wife, Elias had jokingly compared her to the "Unsinkable" Molly Brown of Titanic fame, referring to her has the "Unstoppable" Meredith Winslow. Her ambition apparently knew no bounds. Still, she was growing bored with opening new bakeries. It was time for a change of pace, a new challenge. She found it in television.
The Winslow Way became one of the most successful programs on cable TV. In addition to cooking and baking tips, the respected pundit on all things related to homemaking gave advice on holiday decorating, gardening and interior design as well as instructions in diverse home crafts from quilting and crocheting to candle making and flower arranging. The popularity of her show led to the publication of The Winslow Way monthly magazine and a line of home products for the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. Meredith Winslow had become more than a successful businesswoman and television personality; she was a full-fledged American icon.
With her fortieth birthday looming in the near future, the homemaking maven began taking more of an interest in philanthropy. A multibillionaire with no immediate family or close friends to leave her wealth to when she died, she frequently received invitations to charity balls, art shows and concerts held to raise money for worthy causes. Since such events necessitated her bringing a "plus one" along, she decided it was time for a third husband.
Thirty-two-year-old Dennis O'Mara, like Meredith, was the star of a popular television program. A gifted architect and skilled carpenter, he followed in the footsteps of Bob Vila by hosting a home improvement show. The two met during a televised special to raise money for Habitat for Humanity. Dennis was in charge of renovating an old, dilapidated carriage house while Meredith was to serve as consultant for redesigning the interior. Despite the eight-year difference in the couple's ages, to millions of TV viewers, it was a match made in cable television heaven. What attracted Meredith to Dennis most was his strong resemblance to her first husband.
But unlike Alec Clifford, who wanted a more traditional wife and family, Dennis had goals that mirrored Meredith's own. He hoped that as his popularity grew, he, too, would diversify his brand. He envisioned writing a series of how-to books on carpentry, plumbing, electrical wiring and masonry. Hopefully, he might someday have his own line of hand and power tools, as well. To his credit, he did not expect any help or special favors from his influential wife. He was ambitious, but he was determined to achieve success by his own merit, relying only on his skills and hard work.
Ironically, it was Dennis's commitment to his career that Meredith found most irritating about her third husband. She had thought that once they married, she would never lack an escort. However, when her television show was nominated for its fifth Emmy award, Dennis was unable to accompany his wife to the ceremony.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he apologized, "but I have to be onsite for renovation of that old antebellum plantation house in Georgia that week."
After days of giving her husband the cold shoulder treatment, Meredith finally forgave him. Two months later, though, she had to decline an invitation to a charity event at Lincoln Center because Dennis was shooting on location in Seattle.
I've had enough of this, she thought, determined to put a stop to the situation. I won't allow his damned TV show to ruin another evening for me.
Of the two television shows—hers and her husband's—Meredith's, by far, had the higher ratings. One call to the head of the network was all it took for her to get her husband's program cancelled. Naturally, she insisted Dennis be kept in the dark about her involvement—not that he would leave her if he knew. Thanks to the iron-clad prenuptial agreement he signed, if their marriage ended in divorce, he would walk away empty-handed. Still, she did not want to rock the boat, so he was told only that the sponsors had decided to invest their money elsewhere.
"Don't worry, darling," Meredith said sweetly, giving no hint of her treachery. "Perhaps I can find a spot for you on my show, or, better yet, why don't you get started on writing those how-to books you're always talking about, and I'll provide the financing for a Dennis O'Mara line of tools."
Although he appreciated the offer, he politely declined to accept what he considered to be a mere sinecure. He was a man with old-fashioned ideas that prohibited him from taking hand-outs from rich women, even if the woman in question was his wife. No longer a television star, he returned to his first love: architecture.
Thankfully, designing custom homes did not interfere with his wife's social plans. He was able to enjoy a rewarding career, doing what he loved best—as long as he remained at his wife's beck and call.
* * *
Meredith's cell phone rang again, disturbing her sleep. All she had to do was ignore it, and it would eventually stop ringing. But Dennis was persistent.
Oh, Christ! What does he want now? she thought and took the iPhone out of her handbag.
Her initial instinct was to turn the phone off, but she was angry at having been woken up and wanted to give him a piece of her mind. Before she could get the words out of her mouth, her husband spoke.
"I know what you did."
Her anger abruptly faded, replaced by a sense of dread. What did he know?
"I'll make you sorry you had my show taken off the air."
This time, Dennis was the one to hang up without a word of farewell.
Now fully awake, Meredith tried to phone him back, but her call went straight to his voicemail. Wondering how long she had been asleep, she looked at her watch.
What's going on? she wondered. I should have been at the airport more than two hours ago!
She looked out the tinted windows, expecting to see either city streets or a busy interstate highway, but there was nothing around except trees and green fields.
Where the hell are we?
Meredith tapped on the glass to get the chauffeur's attention. The car slowed and came to a stop. When the driver turned his head in her direction revealing an eyeless skull beneath the chauffeur's cap, his passenger's scream pierced the eerie stillness of the vehicle. The chauffeur silently leaned in the direction of the dashboard, and his skeletal index finger pushed a button on the limo's stereo. Out of the rear speakers came the sound of Dennis O'Mara's voice, reading from an Emily Dickinson poem:
Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.
As the Grim Reaper continued his journey to the hereafter, her husband added, "I told you you'd be sorry."
Resigned to her fate, Meredith Winslow turned her tired eyes to the fragrant bouquet on the seat beside her and she smiled.
"How thoughtful of Dennis to send me flowers after poisoning my VEEN mineral water."
Whenever I attend social functions, you-know-who is always my plus one.
