Hill

She sweeps in wearing a Calvin Klein shirt, Celine coat, Tommy Hilfiger jeans and clutching a burgundy Mulberry bag. I would expect nothing less from Candace Bushnell.

            We greet in the customary two kiss salute as she dumps her bag on the spare leather armchair.

            “Need a refill?” she says, politely indicating my half-full coffee mug.

            “I’m all set.” I say with a grin. Candace Bushnell just offered to buy me a coffee. My life is now complete.

            As she waits in the queue for her flat white, I can’t help staring at the handbag. The luxury speaks for itself, but my mind wanders to the possible contents of the bag. I put good money on finding a notebook in there. How else could she remember all the unique human traits that resurface in her book? I think it would be a posh moleskin one, the type of notebook a novice writer aspires to be worthy of.

            My idol returns with a large mug of coffee and a blueberry muffin.

            “I feel better already!” She smiles as she takes the place opposite me, the bag slung to the floor. She’s so laid back. “So, what is it you won?”

            “It was a competition to spend a day in the life with your favourite author.” I answer quickly, hoping she won’t notice my fan girl blushes.

            “Well coffee is a big part of my daily life. And a real haven for me. My office is where shit gets done, but it’s these kind of places where the action really starts.”

            She takes a large gulp of coffee before plunging a hand into the handbag to extract a notebook. It’s plum in colour, plus moleskin. I feel that our affinity as writers has intensified.

            “Like that guy,” Candace points subtlety with the tip of her Parker pen. “He definitely doesn’t wear glasses outside of work.”

            “How can you tell?” I ask, enraptured to see the master at work.

            “His hairstyle. He would not spend that amount of time to create that look if it was just for work. He’s got plans for later.”

            “Really?”

            “Maybe. Who knows, who cares. For our stories, what we imagine is what happens.”

            I savour that first nugget of knowledge that Candace Bushnell has bestowed on me. 

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