Southern Comforts Read Online Free PDF Page A

chauvinistic. Some of us are fortunate enough to have a clever woman who insists on dragging us from our caves into the modern world.”
    Chelsea sighed and cast a quick, surreptitious glance at her watch. She was running late. As always, these days. “Could we discuss this later?” she suggested, even as she knew that on this issue, she would never budge. “I have a meeting at the office in thirty minutes.”
    â€œHow about over lunch at the Pool Room?” he suggested, knowing the Four Seasons restaurant to be one of her favorites.
    â€œI’m flying to Toronto to interview Sandra Bullock this afternoon,” she reminded him. There were rumors of a romance with a recent costar she wanted to check out. More than that, she was interested in how the actress appeared to remain so centered as she rode the comet her acting career had become.
    There had been a time when Chelsea would have braced herself for his complaint that she was working too hard. Strangely, since they’d gotten back together after an eighteen month separation—during which time she’d concentrated on establishing her career while he’d seemed determined to date every deb in the city—she’d heard not a negative word about the hours she spent away from home.
    â€œI’ll bet Diane Sawyer flies first-class,” he pointed out.
    Giving him points for tenacity, Chelsea laughed. “Good try. But the flight’s not that long. And, since I’ll be writing the entire time, I wouldn’t notice the difference anyway.”
    She scooped up the duffel bag she used as a purse. And, more importantly, with her hectic schedule, as an office ina bag. She kept it filled with pencils, notepads, a mini tape recorder for interviews, a toothbrush, makeup, tampons, and an extra pair of panty hose. So long as she kept the bag with her, she could be on a plane to anywhere within minutes. Chelsea would have felt naked without it.
    She gave him a quick kiss. “Wish me luck.”
    â€œYou know I do.”
    Although his tone was pleasant and matched his winning smile, Chelsea knew that the subject was far from closed. Once again she had a fleeting wish for those days when the only thing they argued about was whether she would work.
    More and more lately, it seemed that not only was Nelson determined to act as her advisor and manager, he was also even more ambitious when it came to her career than she was.
    As she sat in the back of the cab crawling through the crush of morning traffic, Chelsea decided that one of their problems was that Nelson had no career of his own to focus on. Perhaps, if she broached the subject carefully, she could make him see that by going to work, he’d be more personally fulfilled.
    Today was Thursday. They had a long weekend ahead of them after she returned from Toronto. Plenty of time for an overdue, calm discussion. About her work, his lack of work, and where, exactly, their relationship was going.
    Perhaps, she thought with a renewed burst of her typical enthusiasm, Sunday morning she’d make Nelson French toast. The fancy kind, with Grand Marnier, that Roxanne Scarbrough had demonstrated for Joan Lundon on the show.
    Not to soften him up. But to show him how much she cared. How much she wanted things to work out.
    Feeling reassured, Chelsea pulled a notepad out of herbag and began composing a list of questions for her interview with the woman Hollywood insiders were touting as the new Julia Roberts.
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    â€œI have your tickets,” Heather Van Pelt said, handing Chelsea an envelope as she exited the editorial meeting. “Your boarding pass is attached—you’re on the aisle, in the first row of first class. A driver and car will be waiting for you as soon as you clear customs, and I’ve upgraded your room at the Four Seasons to a suite.
    â€œI thought it would give you more room to work,” she continued as she easily kept up with Chelsea’s