Chapter 8
Carla, the reality star, is wearing blood red lipstick and beaming a toothy smile when she appears on the call. She’s just as beautiful as you’d think a former model married to a professional athlete would be.
“Now, don’t be nervous. I can see you are. This isn’t live and we’ll edit anything that doesn’t work. Just roll and relax those tight shoulders and let’s talk about your wonderful book!” She shimmies her shoulders and rubs her hands together, her long straight dark hair fanning over her shoulders.
She makes introductions and we chat a little about the weather in the Bay Area, where we’ve all decided Elizabeth Brogan resides. Convenient for me.
Then she asks the question.
“You had such courage writing the entire novel from the male character’s point of view. How did you come up with the idea? Who was your inspiration for Grayson?” Carla asks.
Behind me, Ryan stops pacing, grabs a piece of paper, and scribbles on it.
Don’t answer that!
Oh, helpful. Really. And what should I say? Sorry, I have no idea what possessed me? I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, smile, and gently shake my head.
I’ve got this.
“Grayson is every man.”
“Well, except when he isn’t. He’s not your classic romance hero. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Nothing like being corrected about your own book. I squirm, then somehow slide off of the stool before I quickly right myself.
“Oh, crap!”
She laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll edit that out.”
“Well, um, what I meant by every man is, um, he’s the kind of man we all secretly adore. Strong and a little grumpy at times, but also kind and protective of Lula even when it’s not needed. She can take care of herself. He means well.”
It’s like shooting a blurry moving target, but I nail it.
“I laughed out loud at the scene where he intended to help Lula but wound up making a mess of everything. The kitchen scene! You’d think the guy never cooked a day in his life.”
“Ah yes, but we love him anyway, don’t we?”
I try to swallow but discover I have no saliva left. It’s all gone to my palms and become sweat by way of some odd body malfunction.
“Grayson is what my husband is like, which is why I love this book so much,” she says.
“Mark has ADHD and dyslexia and he can’t follow a simple recipe to save his life.
That’s just not how his brain works. He can still cook delicious meals, however, his own way.
I think it’s time we have a hero who doesn’t fit into any of these alpha male, toxic masculinity roles often assigned to romance heroes.
Those heroes who throw around their good looks and sexual prowess like it’s a gift to humanity.
It’s why I selected Soulmates and why I want everyone to read about a hero like the one in your book.
Good for you for going beyond what we expect to read in a romance. ”
“Um…yes, well. Thanks. Thanks for noticing.”
Thanks for noticing? I want to face palm.
We talk a bit about my writing process, which is the easiest thing for me to fake.
I use my actual process, changing it up a bit to sound far more effective.
Yes, of course, ideally I too would isolate myself for several hours a day away from social media and other distractions.
I too would not stop until I reached my daily word count goal. Heh, heh.
“No spoilers here, of course, but I’d say the ending was…well, unexpected. I was surprised, as apparently were so many others. So courageous.”
Courageous? How about a complete cop-out?
“Yes, well. Thank you. It’s…sometimes you have to do, uh, you know, the unexpected.”
“It certainly caught my attention! Tell us. Did you write it with anyone in mind? Because I obviously saw a real bent toward Grayson. But was he always the obvious choice?”
“I…I also feel it would be Grayson. But I do look forward to hearing what everyone else thinks.”
“What’s next for you?” she asks. “More books like this one? Because if so, you’ve got a fan for life.”
“Well…”
I’ve got nothing. I think about the book sitting on my hard drive and backed up in a cloud waiting to be ready to fly.
I think about the hours I spend writing for someone else.
But we aren’t here to talk about me, Luci Santana.
We are talking about Elizabeth Brogan, an author who debuted on the New York Times bestseller list. My heart stops beating in a regular pattern, and my palms can be called sweaty in the same way Lake Superior is a pond.
I’m certain the next words to come from my mouth will sound like a baby’s babbling. Baba-dada-doo. What are words?
“I have an idea,” Carla says, finishing my sentence. “Why not next write a sequel! There were so many times I just wanted to slap Lula upside the head. Like, what are you thinking, girl?”
“Oh, absolutely! Can I tell you something? So did I! I wanted to just slug her a few times.”
And I’m not even lying.
I’m on a roll. The thing to do is agree with everything she says. I’m golden. Then I say something for which I worry Ryan might never forgive me. It’s an honest mistake, born of nerves, insecurity, and my borderline neurotic need to please.
“Something special is coming next. And I think you’re going to like it.”
“Sounds like a sequel.” She squeals and claps her hands. “Please give us more Grayson! Let Lula choose him or at least give him someone else. He deserves to be happy.”
“I’ll see what I can do!” I hook my thumb in the air.
I actually point, wink, and make an awful clicking sound with my tongue, which isn’t something I’ve done before or will ever do again. It’s as if I’ve stepped outside my body and become a used car salesman.
“Come on down! We got what you need.” Point, wink, point, annoying tongue click.
“I’m thrilled. You’ll have to send me an early copy.”
“Of course, of course.”
Finally, thank you God, it’s over. She lets me know that the program will air next week during the last hour of the morning show.
I wait for the recording to end, and slide off the stool, this time with something resembling a hint of grace.
I find Ryan on a stool in the kitchen, head in his hands.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
I throw my palms up. “I’m sorry! I folded. I didn’t mean to. It just…it just came out of me.”
“You made it sound like there will be another book!”
“You saw what happened! She had me on the ropes. All the pressure got to me. I just couldn’t take it.”
“But I told you I was done.”
“Look, you wouldn’t be the first author to get writer’s block and never be able to write another word. Let’s say that’s what happened and why there won’t be another book.”
He stood. “Don’t wish writer’s block on me!”
“Not you, Elizabeth Brogan. It’s just fiction. Remember fiction?”
“Hello? Ryan?” The disembodied voice of Pepper calls to us from the other room. “Luci?”
I’ve forgotten all about her. Apparently, so has Ryan.
“Do you think she heard you promise another book?” Ryan runs a hand through his hair.
I follow him back into the living room.
“Oh hey, Pepper.” He strolls in casually, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “We were just conferring. About how it went.”
“That’s right,” I say, giving the face of Pepper on the monitor a little wave, hoping my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. “We were discussing and conferring.”
“So…did you hear the entire interview?” Ryan says. “I think it went well.”
“I saw it more than heard it,” Pepper says. “The sound wasn’t the best. From what I can tell, it went smoothly. I’m sure I’ll hear soon. What did you two think? Exciting, right?”
“Exciting.” Ryan gives me the side-eye.
“Very much so,” I lie.
Honestly we are both much better on paper. Pepper will eventually hear the entire interview and know then that I’ve promised Ryan will deliver another book. The publisher will rejoice, I imagine, and so will his agent. I bet if they throw enough money at him, he will do it. Miserably, but he will.
Pepper points from the screen. “Remember I’m only a phone call or an email away. And though it’s not official, it looks like Soulmates is already gaining ground and may take another run at the list!”
“Great,” Ryan says, not convincingly.
Pepper disconnects and for a long moment we simply stare at each other.
Two placements on the list. For a book without a real ending. Sometimes life isn’t fair.
“I’m no longer feeling guilty that I practically promised everyone another book.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. Now we have to deal with those questions all over again.”
“Yes, I know! We’ll have to figure something out if you continue to refuse to write another book with an actual ending.”
Ryan shakes his head and I know the discussion is over. For now.