Margaret's Editing Adventures

Monday morning, 8:00 AM Margaret sat in her cubicle with her cup of steaming hot coffee. She checked her calendar- two editing meetings and a conference call with a temperamental author. She checked her emails before packing her documents. One flagged and highlighted email flashed away in her inbox. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and clicked on her boss’s presumed diatribe. What on earth could be so important in the world of children’s picture books?

Drop everything. Cancel everything. I need you in my office at 8. I have an urgent matter and no one to handle it. I’ve just been sent a manuscript, and honestly, this is one of our best authors. I don’t know what has happened to him. It’s awful. We’ve got to get it fixed. Be in my office by 8. JM

Margaret checked her watch. I’m late. She got up, grabbed her tablet, pen, and her coffee. She straightened her skirt, smoothing the unnoticeable wrinkles as she walked to the elevator. She slipped her pen into the bun on top of her head and punched the up button. While she waited for the elevator she made sure her starched white blouse was still correctly buttoned and tucked in, glasses straight, her scarf was properly bowed and straight, and she tucked in a few loose strands of hair. Most people avoided looking at the mirrored doors, but Margaret always used them to make sure she was properly dressed for the professional office.

Margaret checked her watch again as the elevator dinged. The doors slid open; her boss was standing at the back of the elevator. “Good, you got the message. I’ve had my assistant clear your calendar for the week.” The doors slid shut and so did the boss’s explanations.

Margaret still couldn’t figure out what could possibly have Jim so rattled. Her years in public school libraries had been a real lucky charm landing her this job with Deaf &Mute Books. She’d used her experience with children to help many authors find the right mix in print and art. Many of the books she’d helped with had earned prestigious children’s literature awards. She silently ran down the list of authors that she’d worked with as the elevator climbed; none of them had mentioned having anything ready to send in. Who could it be?

When the doors opened, Jim guided Margaret to the conference room. “Have a seat,” he said as he made sure the door was shut. “Margaret, this is a serious problem.”He sat down in the chair beside her and turned it to face Margaret. He placed his hand on a very thick stack of papers on the table, obviously not a children’s picture book. “I have a bestselling author on the way here. We’ve paid,” he paused, exasperatedly blew out a full breath, “I don’t even want to think what we’ve already paid for this book.” His hand drummed on the book. “As it stands, we’re going to lose millions if we don’t get it fixed. You’ve helped nurture so many authors, and they appreciate your hard work and professionalism. You’re the only one I can think of to help this guy. What do you say? Will you give it a try?” He slid the draft copy toward Margaret.

“I really should read it first.”

“He’ll be here at nine o’clock. I’ll need your answer before I bring him in.”

Margaret swallowed hard, “Let me read a few pages from the middle and I’ll make a decision before he gets here.”

“OK, I’ll leave you here to read.” Jim walked out of the room, slightly hopeful that Margaret’s kind, old-fashioned librarian heart and love of good books would win out. But if she picked certain pages, she just might burn that book, draft form or not. Jim didn’t believe in crossing fingers but he crossed his as he left the room, and then crossed himself.

Margaret picked up the draft, flipped through the leaves, and stopped about half way through. She opened the text. She started at the top of the page, trying to get a feel for the book. She read the first three sentences, and flipped the book closed on her finger. “Oh, my,” she gasped. She blinked several times and swallowed again. She grabbed her cup of coffee and gulped it down. She put her elbow on the table and blew out an exasperated breath. Her finger was still in the book at her place. Oh dear, I can’t read this.

The door opened and Margaret’s hand flew off of the book like a child getting caught in the cookie jar. A tall man walked in. “Hi, I’m here to meet someone about my draft. You have it. I guess you’re the person I’m supposed to meet. Maggie, wasn’t it? I’m so horrible with names,” he said in his deep bass voice.

Flabbergasted, the beet red Margaret sat in shock. “Uh, yeah, I’m Margaret.” She stood offering her hand. I just started looking at your book.

Jim flew into the room. “Jason, you’re early.” Jim pleaded to Margaret with the ‘it’s too late to back out now’ expression on his face. “I see you’ve met Margaret.”

“Yes, traffic was lighter than I expected this morning. I’m not too early, am I?” They both looked at Margaret.

“I’m going to need a couple of days to read and take notes. I’ll need for you to leave your information here on my tablet.” She pulled the pen from her bun and offered it to him. “I’ll call you if I have questions or need to discuss anything.” She waited for him to put his information on the tablet. While he was bent over the table writing away, Margaret glared Jim. She mouthed to him, “You owe me big-time.”

Jim mouthed back. “I know. Thank you.”

Jason stood, gathered the draft, tablet and pen and offered them back to Margaret. “Maggie, I can’t wait to hear from you.”

“It’s Margaret, and I suggest you remember that or you can call me Miss Wiggins, if Margaret is too difficult.” She grabbed her belongings, the manuscript that should be burned, and huffed out of the door back to her safe cubicle in the Children’s Books Department.

Margaret threw the manuscript on her desk and looked at the tablet: name, address, phone numbers, and three emails addresses. Good grief, he really did follow directions. She felt the need to wash her hands, quickly turned around, started toward the bathroom and slammed right into the chest of Jason Wright. She bounced back a step, startled. Jason grabbed Margaret’s elbows to try to keep her from falling in the small cubicle.

“I just wanted to apologize, Margaret. I really am lousy with names and, well…” Jason took note of the room; children’s book covers decorated the walls. His head dropped, “I just came to say, I’m really glad you’re willing to work with me,” he turned to leave before anything more embarrassing could happen. An award winning, adventure-mystery writer being stuck with a children’s book editor was a major blow to his masculine ego.

Margaret followed Jason toward the elevator. “Jason, you stop right now. I told you upstairs, I was going to read your book. Now, what is this attitude of defeat about? Do you think I’m not up for the job?”

“Honestly, Margaret, I don’t think you’ll even start to understand my book, now that I see what department you work in.” He turned to walk away again.

She stood directly in front of him. Her eyes flared, how dare he say she couldn’t understand something. He didn’t know anything about her. She poked her skinny finger into his chest for emphasis, “We’ll just see what I understand. I’ll be calling you when I finish each chapter, and you’d better be ready to edit and accept everything I tell you to change. You better have a damned good argument for anything you want to keep. I am the roughest editor you’ve ever worked with. And one more thing, wipe that silly smirk off of your face.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I’ll be waiting for your call. He punched the down elevator button, relieved when the doors opened immediately. As the doors slid closed, Jason watched Margaret storm back toward her cubicle. It’s always the quiet ones.

Margaret sat down in her cubicle. She opened the manuscript and started reading, pen in hand and tablet ready. As she read she wrote notes and questions. Every page or so she’d stop and reflect about the plot, characters and make more copious notes. By the end of the day, she’d finished the first chapter. She called Jason with her first inquisition. By the end of her questioning and demands, Jason was ready for a double shot of whiskey. One wasn’t enough to handle this fire-cracker. After his second drink he imagined what would happen when she got to chapter eight. It was enough to make him pour a third.

The next morning Jason emailed the required changes to Margaret. She emailed back her approval and sent the pages upstairs. Jim was ecstatic with the changes. He emailed Jason congratulating him on the improvements. Jason felt encouraged. Work continued steadily, Margaret in her safe little cubicle, Jason in his home office, Jim upstairs envisioning the money rolling in.

Finally the dreaded day came, chapter eight the first of many sex-capades within the book. Jason dreaded each phone call. There was no way this straight-laced ex-school librarian, children’s picture book editor could ever know about anything that he’d described in the rest of the book. He knew he had to justify and explain it all. Describing sex to your little sister would be easier than talking to Margaret about it. The phone rang, he nervously answered, “Hello?”

“We need to talk in person. I… well, meet me at Georgio’s in thirty minutes.” She hung up.

Jason blinked and swallowed hard, “Okay,” he said to the air as he hung up the phone. There wasn’t anything to do but go and get it over with. He hadn’t seen Margaret since that first meeting; he remembered how flushed and embarrassed she was when he barged into the conference room. Now it was his turn.



Margaret was waiting in the lobby of Georgio’s when he arrived. Her hair pulled up in a bun, a starched white blouse buttoned all the way up to the neck, a black skirt, black pumps and a matching black computer satchel. The hostess took them to a booth away from the busy areas of the restaurant. Margaret slid in and patted the seat beside her. She softly said, “I need to talk to you, do you mind sitting on this side?”

“No, that’s fine, Margaret.” He slid in beside her. “I’m surprised you wanted to meet today. I figured we wouldn’t have a meeting until everything was done.” I was hoping we wouldn’t meet until the book signing tour started.

“Why would you think that? This is where the real problems start.” She paused, looked down at the menu, she knew they wouldn’t be staying to eat. This guy needed an education, and this afternoon was lesson number one.

She closed the menu when the waitress walked up. “We’ll have two coffees and the appetizer sampler.”

“Sir?”

“Excuse me, I gave you our order. You may take it and fill it at once.”

Jason, looked at the waitress and nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

“Now, you have two characters that your readers have been following. They’ve teased and flirted their way through how many books?”

“This is the third.”

“So what did you do, go to a porn movie festival before you sat down to write this? You know how to flirt; you know how to build intensity, so why is this and every other scene in this book a great big,” she paused, leaned toward Jason, covered her mouth and lowered her voice, “fuck fest?” Margaret’s cheeks burned, she couldn’t believe what she was saying out loud.

“But the readers wanted them to get together.”

She opened her tablet, placed the draft on the table. He saw each page had stickers sticking out all over. She opened to chapter eight, and pointed to a paragraph. “Read that.” He complied. “Now try to do it.”

“What?”

“Try it. Take your hand and try sticking it between my legs with a pencil skirt.”

He slid his right hand over her thigh, failure. His cheeks started to turn pink.

“This whole chapter won’t work. Everything you described literally is impossible.”

The waitress placed the two coffee cups on the table. “You can make it to go. We have work to do.”
The waitress took the cups off the table and stomped back to the kitchen while Margaret slipped her belongings back in her bag.

“We could stay and eat.”

“Jason, I said we have work to do and that’s that, now let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed the bag the waitress brought back, while Margaret threw a twenty on the table.

He stood beside the table, and then followed Margaret out like a school boy being taken to the principal’s office. Margaret led the way to her car. “Get in.” Jason complied.

“Now, Jason, you have to understand two things. One, my private life is private and two, I’ll not tolerate any shenanigans if I’m going to help you fix this. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” What else could he say? He shifted uncomfortably in the bucket seat.

She drove to her townhouse, without another word from either of them. After twenty minutes, “Well, this is it,” she stated matter-of-factly as she pulled into the parking space. She turned off the car, gathered her materials and started for the front door.

Jason followed, wondering what was going to happen now.

She handed him the key, he opened the door and walked into a cozy living room. Exactly what he expected from a school librarian, there were books littered with stickers stacked on every table. For some reason it made him feel a little better.

“Have a seat. She pulled one of his older books off of one of the stacks. Look at the scene I have marked.” He obeyed, nodding while he read. “Now, do it with me.”

He sat beside Margaret, put his arm around her shoulder and looked into her eyes. His hand slid up and pulled the pin holding her hair. It fell in loose waves over her shoulders; he took off her glasses and placed them on the table, and turned his attention back to Margaret. He leaned in slowly, and delicately kissed her. He stopped, sat back upright, “Like that?”

“Do you like girls?” Her delicate fingers started flicking the buttons open on her blouse, as she rose to stand before him.

“Yes, of course.”

She leaned over him, her hands on his shoulders exposing her décolletage. Seductively she asked, “Do you like … women?”

His answer was slower, his mind trying to figure this game.

“Well?” she said as the blouse hit the floor exposing the top of her merry widow, while she unzipped her skirt, allowing it to fall hitting the floor on top of her blouse. The experienced beauty stood in front of Jason with his mouth hanging open. She straddled his lap, wrapping her arm around his neck while her free hand explored his chest. “You’ve been a naughty boy, writing such drivel.” Jason nodded. “You need to learn your lesson, don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jason felt her heat straight through his wool pants. He was growing exponentially with each little wiggle on his lap, not to mention those breasts bulging over the top of that pale blue merry widow. His hands glided over her thighs, buttocks, and back pulling her closer. His lips locked with hers, finding the slightest opening to devour her with his tongue.

She pushed back slightly, gauging his reaction, while rocking her pussy over the growing mound trapped in his pants. She playfully bit his lower lip, and sat back up. “Naughty boy, you must learn to please.”

Margaret grabbed his belt and with just a flip of the wrist, it was flung across the floor. She jerked his shirt tail out, ripped it open, buttons flew in every direction, exposing Jason’s chiseled chest. A slight grin crossed her face. She made little work of his button fly. She grabbed him and released his cock from its prison. He winced slightly with the sudden movement, but delighted in how her fingers were playing his instrument. His rod glistened, and longed for release. He felt her smoldering heat and growing wetness through her panties.

He snapped one of the garters running over her bottom and pulled her tighter to him. His fingers explored the depths of her heat. While her kisses deepened; he found her secret spot, deep within her, massaging it, feeling it swell, and her contract. He felt her stiffen, her back arch, and a deep and satisfied sigh escape. “Ma’am?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Do I please you?”

“Yes, Jason.” She slid off of his lap and stood beside him, leaned over and whispered while pointing to the computer. “Now, go write the beginning of chapter eight. When you finish, if it’s good, I’ll please you.”

Jason sat at the computer. His fingers flew as the scene unfolded in his imagination. Margaret read over his shoulder, her breasts pressed into his back. Her hands roamed all over his masculine frame, settling on the warmest parts for her to play with. Her tongue danced occasionally around his ear as she whispered all the ways she would please him.



Monday morning, 8:00 AM Margaret sat in her new office with her cup of hot coffee. Her temperamental author would be arriving soon. She buzzed her assistant. “There will be no interruptions when Jason gets here. After all, he’s a number one bestseller for a reason.”




Prompt: It's aways the quiet ones!

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