2. Two
TWO
“This place is great.”
I looked around the rental unit and thanked my lucky stars that I’d managed to find something so perfect.
Not only was it perfect, but it wasn’t overly expensive either.
Sure, it was more expensive than anything I’d ever lived in on my own.
For once in my life, though, I was making enough money to sustain what my mother called a “proper” lifestyle.
I did a little hip wiggling shimmy and moved to the window so I could look out on Lincoln Street.
Living in the heart of downtown Savannah had always been a dream of mine, ever since my mother brought me here after an Atlanta convention and allowed me to wander around to my heart’s content.
She’d hit up every spa in town, and I’d gone on every ghost tour I could find.
I loved the city like nothing else, so when the opportunity to take over my friend’s lease — she’d gotten married and had a baby in quick succession — had popped up, I jumped on it. This was going to be my chance.
I, Wylie Dixon, was finally ready to be a grown-up.
“I’m glad you like it.” Bella Oakley sat on the couch with her baby.
I was bad at judging ages — and Bella had told me more than once, so I was uncomfortable asking again — but I was pretty sure she was only a few months old.
Basically, she crapped and cried as far as I could tell.
Otherwise, she didn’t have much of a personality.
“Isn’t that right, Sidney?” Bella held up the baby to look around, but the little one didn’t look impressed.
She had Bella’s big, expressive eyes, and I’d assumed Sidney Pamela Cooper was a dead ringer for her mother.
Then I’d met her father, Nathan Cooper, and hadn’t been as sure. The baby was a mix of both her parents.
“So, where did the name come from?” I asked as I flopped on the couch. I hadn’t asked Bella to make sure that my move-in went smoothly, but she was too nice not to check on someone when they were moving into a new city. It was one of the reasons I liked her so much.
“Sidney Prescott is the heroine in the Scream movies,” Bella explained. “Pamela Voorhees was Jason Voorhees’ mother. You know who that is, right?”
It felt like a test. “He’s the hockey mask killer,” I volunteered. Horror wasn’t my favorite genre — that would always be science fiction — but I’d been to every convention in the country at some point when growing up. I knew who Jason Voorhees was.
That didn’t mean I didn’t have questions. “Why would you name your baby after a killer? She was the killer in the first movie, right?”
Bella broke out in a wide grin. “Very good.” She bobbed her head enthusiastically. “I’m so glad you know that.”
“What does she know?” Nathan asked as he muscled his way into my apartment with the huge suitcase he’d insisted on carrying up the stairs.
Movers had dropped off everything else, but I’d driven myself, so I would have a car.
That meant all my most important items were in that suitcase.
I’d taken one look at the narrow stairs that led to my unit and wondered if I would have to unpack in the car and make multiple trips up the stairs.
Then Nathan had come to the rescue, thankfully.
“She knows who Pamela Voorhees is.” Bella’s eyes twinkled as her husband rolled the suitcase into the living room.
“Oh, yeah?” Nathan grinned. “You just made my beautiful wife’s day.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Don’t get corny.”
“I can’t help it.” Nathan moved to the other couch and sat next to Bella. His first instinct was to kiss her cheek. The second was to snatch his daughter. “So, I know you just got here, but do you have a list of things you want to do now that you’re here? We can help you.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t as if they were trying to put me on the spot — I recognized that — but it still felt like a fair amount of pressure. “I don’t have a list or anything. I’ve been here before. It’s been years, though.”
“Did you come with your mother?” Bella asked.
Bella and I had met at a New York mixer that was being held by our publisher.
I was a new author — touting my first science fiction romance book — and she’d been there as well.
She had a few more books under her belt.
She’d immediately noticed how nervous I was and made her way over.
We’d hit it off right away, but only because she introduced herself to me.
When in situations like that, I tended to get nervous and babble. I couldn’t help myself.
I’d been around industry people my whole life, but they still made me nervous.
That was why I’d submitted under an alias — Beverly Dax, after my two favorite Star Trek characters — and hoped to be able to secure a contract that was separate from my mother.
Agnes Quincy was famous, to the point of being one of the few authors who managed to be a household name, but I didn’t want to ride her coattails.
They’d wanted my book. I’d been so excited.
In fact, I couldn’t wait to tell my mother.
Then I’d met them in person, and the whole thing fell apart because the acquisitions editor who had read it recognized me.
She’d been gentle when explaining that my goal to do it all on my own was noble.
However, she also pointed out the money would be way better if I owned who my mother was.
I loved science fiction. I wanted to write it, just like my mother.
They steered me away from doing straight science fiction, though.
They were afraid the comparisons to my mother would crush me.
Readers were unkind, they explained. Even if 95 percent of them loved it — which could easily happen — the five percent that hated it would be as mean as possible when crushing my spirits.
So, a decision was made. I loved science fiction and knew all the ins and outs of spaceships and interstellar travel.
Romance was the queen of all genres, though, so it made sense to marry my love to the biggest market out there.
So, Wylie Dixon became the biggest debut in sci-fi romance in …
well, according to them, forever. Frankly, I figured that was because sci-fi romance had only become a big genre in the last few years. I didn’t mention that, though.
My first trilogy had blown away expectations. That allowed me to secure a huge advance for my second trilogy, which was how I could afford this apartment. Otherwise, I would have gone much smaller and farther away from the hubbub of the historic downtown area.
My mother had been proud. After initially being angry that I’d tried to do everything on my own, she came around relatively quickly.
“I don’t believe in the nepo babies nonsense,” she’d said to me when we’d been in her huge San Francisco penthouse. “People have always used their connections to get a foothold. Of course, you would use your connection to me to get a leg up on everybody else. That’s simply how it works.”
She’d even been a fan of the sci-fi romance idea.
“Straight science fiction is hard,” she’d explained.
“Especially if you’re a woman. You don’t want to constantly be compared to me.
That will be hard on both of us. This way, you can still write the stuff you love.
The readership won’t be exactly the same, though. ”
I’d nodded in agreement — I understood everything she was saying — and then swallowed the despair in my stomach. It wasn’t that I disliked romance. I read it all the time. I just wanted to write what my mother wrote. That’s what I’d grown up dreaming about writing.
My mother hadn’t been “smart” when starting out.
She’d taken a chance, and it had worked for her.
Did it grate that nobody believed I should take a chance?
Yes. Deep down, I knew they all wanted the best for me.
I decided to do it the “easy” way to start.
In truth, writing a book was never easy.
Using my mother’s people was easier, though, and I benefited from it greatly.
Still, in the back of my mind, I had the ideas for multiple hard science fiction novels percolating. I hadn’t given up on that dream. It was, however, delayed for a little bit.
Of course, the delay meant I could afford the best apartment I’d ever seen in Savannah’s historic district. That was worth it in my book.
“What were we saying again?” I asked, realizing the conversation had completely fallen by the wayside. That was normal for me. I got distracted easily.
“Your mother,” Bella prodded in a soft voice. “Did you come here with her?”
“Oh, yes and no.” I held out my hands. “She did bring me here after a convention one year — it was in Atlanta — and she needed some downtime. It was after the Austin thing.”
I cringed just thinking about the “Austin thing,” as it was known in our family.
The “Austin thing” had haunted my mother for years after it happened.
It still haunted her, and in fantastic fashion.
Not that she would talk about it or anything.
She absolutely refused. That meant I couldn’t talk about it.
I would never force my mother to talk about something painful, and nothing was more painful than her breakup with Eleanor Ambrose.
“The ‘Austin thing’ being when Eleanor Ambrose lost her mind and attacked your mother in a roomful of people?” Nathan prodded.
Bella shot him a scandalized look. “Nathan!”
“I was just asking,” he replied, trying to look innocent. He had trouble pulling it off.
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “You’re not the first people to ask me about the ‘Austin thing,’ and I very much doubt you’ll be the last.” I used air quotes and smiled even though nothing felt funny.
“What happened?” Nathan said whatever came to his mind. I’d learned that quickly. Personally, I appreciated it. That meant I didn’t have to worry about him saying one thing and thinking another. That was always my greatest fear.