My Christmas Darling

by Vivien Mayfair

  His lips pressed into a flat line. “No.”

  “You don’t find her attractive?”

  “She’s not my type.”

  “She’s blonde and beautiful and has a literary career. What more could you want?”

  The music stopped. People clapped, but he didn’t let go.

  Instead, he stared at her mouth like wondering what tastes lingered there. A hypnotic trance held them frozen like stone in a rock bed. She leaned closer and closer, still hoping for that kiss.

  Stopped.

  “Something real,” he whispered.

  Lucy knew she had to get out of his embrace before she tossed him flat on his back. Heat spread through her delicate parts, making her visualize what it would feel like under a blanket with him.

  Without clothes.

  “Lucy?” he prompted.

  Plan B.

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted Heather rise from the table. That was Lucy’s cue to get moving and meet her in the bathroom to proceed to the next phase of a rapidly failing plan. At the same time, the moment was lovely enough to surge electricity through her body and keep her firmly rooted in place.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, worriedly.

  “I’m a little dizzy, is all.”

  “Let me help you back to the table.”

  “Thank you, but I think I just need the restroom.”

  He guided her that way with an arm around her waist. “Bibi must be in there.”

  “I’ll find her.”

  “With a highly confidential legal contract left on the table for all to see.”

  They parted ways where she picked up to a dash when out of his line of sight. She nearly plowed into a server carrying a tray of salads. “Sorry!” she said, as he walloped a “watch it!”

  Heather opened the door and yanked her in. “Spill it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  They both reached for the door to lock it.

  “What did he say about me? Does he like me? Why didn’t he ask me to dance?”

  “I was distracting him so you could read the contract,” she defended.

  “Oh, Lucy!” she hopped up and down in delight. “You’re going to be rich.”

  “What did it say?”

  “They’re giving you a hundred-thousand-dollar advance within seventy-two hours of signing. That means in three days your mom can get her surgery.”

  Lucy covered her mouth. Was it that easy?

  “Then in ninety days you’ll get five million for the book regardless of royalty if you sign the movie contract. He’s going to partner with the studio, and they’ll be splitting the kickbacks.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means five million is just the guarantee. That doesn’t include royalties once the books and movies are released. Oh, and part of that hundred thousand is for a three-book contract. And, a boat-load more after that.”

  “About Snowdrop Valley?”

  “Three books, Lucy, and you already have one done.”

  “I don’t know if I have that in me.”

  “You only have to write two more with the first one done in ninety days. And none of this includes some lump payment for discovering a town. I mean, what’s that all about, anyway?”

  So, this was it.

  Drained from the performance of a lifetime, Lucy slumped against the door. She thought about all of the people she was hurting. Like it or not, it was done. They were there. He bought it. The lies were told.

  She found it.

  The solution.

  She spent a year writing her book as a way to rectify her mistake. As much as she hated the dishonesty, it was just business. It wouldn’t be the first time a person twisted facts to land a big deal. There was still the option of marrying Mark Roland.

  Three calls came in just that day. Texts, then flowers to the office. No doubt he went home with Sandra Bullock, and by now she was done with him. Mark never was one to be alone for more than a few days.

  Heather checked her makeup in the mirror a little too closely. “So, what do we do now?”

  “We walk out. It’s done.”

  “When will you sign then?”

  “I’m not taking the deal. It’s illegal, dishonest, unethical, not to mention impossible.”

  Heather disappeared into a stall to pee. “Um, when you come back from Planet Lucy where My Little Ponies tango and Rainbow Brite waltzes with Bugs Bunny, you can rethink that.”

  “I can’t do it, Heather. We could get in a lot of trouble.”

  The toilet flushed.

  Heather came to the sink and pumped lemon soap in her hands. “We made it this far.”

  “I’m going to marry Mark.”

  “The man thinks he’s Alexander the Great, always with some new person or world to conquer. You can’t marry him, or you may never get out of it.”

  “Well, my boss will find out the truth. Already you’re blowing it as me anyway. He’ll find out, and it’s all over for me.”

  “How am I blowing it? He’s eating out of my hand.”

  “You thought Steve was my dad.”

  “So, wasn’t he?”

  “Steve was my dog who my dad stole after he left us. He needed a dog to look cute sitting at his feet while he begged for coins for his music.”

  “But, you hate dogs. Besides, I’ll just sign the contract.”

  “You’re not Bibi Roquette. Neither am I.”

  “He doesn’t know that. Indirectly, you still are giving me permission.”

  “Then how am I supposed to collect the money?”

  Heather tapped her chin. “I’ll add a second name to my bank account with me as Bibi. They can put it in direct deposit. After taking my cut, I’ll give you the rest?”

  Lucy linked her arms. “Your cut?”

  “You said you’ll give me ten percent for being you.”

  “So, you’re going to control my money? I’m the one who wrote the book. Besides, I told you five percent. I need the money for my mom, remember?”

  “And I have to pretend to be you in the press. But, of course, I’m not trying to control your money. It’s not about the money for me, really. I mean, sure, I could use it, but my main goal is helping you. It’s just starting to feel like a very time-consuming job.”

  It was true.

  The ruse, if successful, would be permanent. Heather’s face and voice would forever be Bibi Roquette who wrote a simple little holiday novel that changed the world. The work could go on for years.

  “Maybe it’s a bad idea,” Lucy pondered out loud. “You’re an actress and small or not, somebody could recognize you, which would cause mass confusion.”

  “We’re a partnership,” said Heather, a little bit morosely now. “And nobody watches my stuff. Honestly, I’m not that good at it.”

  “It’s dangerous, though. You didn’t write the book.”

  “If we get caught, we can say that we wrote it together, but because of your job you couldn’t take the credit. Only you would know the truth, so nobody can prove it. Oh Lucy, you deserve this so much. I’ll do anything I can to help you. All I want is for you to be successful.”

  Lucy unlocked the door. “Thanks, but I’m telling him the truth.”

  “Are you crazy? You can’t!”

  Already she stormed back for the table with Heather at her heels tugging on the back of her dress. William stood up with eyes surprisingly on Lucy instead of her butter-haired alter identity with all the acting skills of a groundhog pretending to be Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Fashion disaster.”

  Back in her chair, Lucy stared at the contract in front of Heather. She thought of her mom just that morning slipping and falling in the shower. The bang and thump sent Lucy flying out of bed to her rescue.

  She knew.

  This was it; they were in too deep. It all happened so fast. She never meant to deceive anybody. Seeing William p
ractically salivate as Heather touched the packet confirmed her choice. The man acted out of desperation. Surely, even he would understand if it came to that.

  “Do you have a pen?” asked Heather.

  Will winked at her as one came from his pocket. “Always.”

  Heather put pen to paper. What if she accidentally used her real name?

  Lucy offered as a reminder, “Congratulations, Bibi.”

  Jail. Jail. Jail.

  Then it was done.

  Real.

  Signed.

  A quick scribble of cursive and the pen went down. “I’m an author!” boasted Heather.

  William exhaled as he squeezed her shoulder. “Nicely done.”

  Excitement plunged into his eyes that Lucy knew was all about his father. They shook hands and chatted about the next step in the process. Heather would have to contact HR to set up a direct deposit after providing the original manuscript document in a digital file.

  Lucy’s book.

  She was an author; about to become a millionaire.

  Published.

  She’d have the inferiority thing licked for sure now. Mark Roland would be the one begging for her hand instead of the other way around. Now, what was she going to do? What hurt the most was that she just achieved the success of her dreams and didn’t get to participate in it. It should have been her signature.

  Her name.

  Lucy Carpenter, storyteller, town founder, or just somebody. Now, nobody would know her name. Heather’s face and their shared pen name would be the one in history books. Nobody would know Lucy. In fact, how could she even brag to Mark? The man likely would blow her secret for personal gain.

  Tears welled in her eyes. This was Heather’s success.

  Not hers.

  So what?

  Her only goal was to make big money to redeem her mistake and help her mom get her eyesight back. Or, take care of her mom in a comfortable way that would generate just a little less guilt.

  Mission accomplished.

  Mary Carpenter would see again. One year from now she’d be in her own house. Lucy told herself that was all that mattered now. The trickery was a necessity worth the end result.

  Boom, bang, done.

  One thing was for sure.

  Victory.

  This just got real.

  So, why didn’t she feel any better?

  Chapter 10

  “Success is to be celebrated; so is refusing to scale down your book collection.”

  With Love, Vivien

  * * *

  There was something to be said about walking on air.

  Contentment.

  A job well done.

  Hope.

  Like napping on a bed of cotton candy.

  That day William had a friend to share the exhilaration with. He reveled in his fluffy mood as the town car pulled up in front of the world-renowned ophthalmology surgery center. The place where eyes came to see.

  “Today your life changes,” he announced to Iris.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  The driver hopped out into a rush of traffic and helped Iris from the car. A gust of exhaust from a city bus crackling by made William’s nose hairs tickle and burn. He tried to find gratitude in the noxiousness.

  “Watch your step,” William warned her.

  She clasped tight to his gloved hand. “Oh my, so many challenges in old age.”

  “You’ll be dancing on the tables like Dick Van Dyke any day now.”

  “And like a fool, I’ll break my spine in two.”

  The snow had stopped again. What remained turned to solid blocks of hard snow that posed a threat to old ladies on sidewalks. A grey mist hung in the air as they worked their way into the doctor’s office.

  “So kind of you to come with me,” praised Iris, slower than a snail’s offspring.

  “You’re having laser surgery. I couldn’t let you go alone.”

  “Don’t you have work, my dear? I’ve never seen you take a day off.”

  He opened the door for her to a blast of heat. “You’re more important to me than work.”

  Certainly, that was true.

  All was on track with his plan to save Big Apple Books. With Bibi’s signature and their ownership of the rights, pieces were falling into place quickly. Three editors already worked on her book. Artists just completed the cover art. Another worked around the clock to format the interior for print and eBook.

  Smooth sailing.

  The game had changed. After returning Iris back home, there would be a meeting with a producer from a major TV station who won the bid to turn the book into an original holiday film. The meeting would include attorneys and Michael Worthington on negotiating book rights, shared profits, and a full series for the books.

  Without Bibi.

  Despite his concern over her odd restaurant behavior, he proceeded with the plan knowing she wouldn’t show up for the meeting. No need until it came time for her to sign the movie contract.

  And, the town.

  The little American literary town inspired by a book he published. His project, his vision. The governor invited William, Bibi, her attorney, and her press agent to the state for a wine and dine meeting.

  A planning session.

  If you build it, they will come, or so is the plan.

  Snowdrop Valley.

  Entering the surgery center under a ring of sleigh bells, he smiled thinking about how he’ll be known as the one who birthed a sensation. He brought the workings of a woman’s imagination to life. An entire town would exist because he discovered one woman. Rather, he and Lucy Carpenter did as a team.

  “I’ll go check in,” said Iris, out of breath.

  “Can I help?”

  “No, dear, take a seat. It’s just paperwork.”

  He scanned the facility with the finest luxury furnishings that looked like they came right out of a Restoration Hardware store. Navy blue vintage velvet chairs lined each wall.

  All empty.

  A center row of textured bench ottomans with button tufting held half a dozen seniors working on paperwork on clipboards. William noticed a coffee bar near a set of double doors that said “Private Entry” - where a nurse pushed out a younger man in a wheelchair with bandages around his eyes.

  Yikes.

  He worked his way toward the coffee. Suddenly, he felt grateful good vision ran in the family. Certainly, he didn’t begrudge Iris for needing his help. She was like a grandmother to him, and he hated the idea of her being alone. Nobody should be entirely alone in the world.

  The bitter smell of dark coffee relaxed him.

  A businessman’s drink.

  When a light on the machine turned blue, he picked up the pot and poured into a Styrofoam cup. Respected men didn’t need all the fluff that came with coffee. Who needed the calories?

  It tasted like caramel pecan.

  A door opened behind him to the happy chatter of multiple voices. Cup to his lips, he halted it there when he heard a familiar voice; a bubbly, flirty, valley girl voice with an unmistakable and joyous giggle.

  It couldn’t be.

  He set down the coffee and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there she was.

  Bibi Roquette.

  This time she wore tight jeans, knee-high pink boots, and a magenta snow jacket with a matching beanie hat. She looked like a Disney princess wearing a bottle of Pepto Bismol. Yet, he’d know the cascade of sleek bleached hair anywhere by the sway and jagged cut at the ends.

  He stepped her way.

  Stopped.

  A nurse pushed a wheelchair at Bibi’s side. Together they helped a woman with stringy red hair get onto her feet. The nurse placed a walking cane into her hands.

  Her mom.

  Night after night of email sharing about their secret literary lives resulted in an entire biography. So, the blind story was true. William wondered if Bibi really had red hair underneath all that platinum.

  He approached, “Bib
i?”

  Bantering with the nurse, she turned around with a giggle that froze on her face like a Madame Tussaud wax character. The nurse gave her mom some final instructions and wished her well.

  “Oh, jingle bells,” exclaimed Bibi. “Oh no, oh no.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

  His finger aimed toward the counter where Ms. Iris spoke with a receptionist. “I brought my neighbor in for her laser surgery. Her eyes will be fuzzy and sensitive to light.”

  The blind woman took Bibi’s arm. “And, who is this?”

  “This must be your mother,” said Will, feeling a bit awkward talking to a blind person. Should he offer his hand for a shake? Likely, she wouldn’t know it was in the air and he’d look like a buffoon.

  Bibi gawked and gasped now with a sagging mouth. “Uh, oh, uh, well you see…”

  The older woman, heavy on freckles, smiled. “Friend of yours?”

  “I’m William,” he replied, forgetting the hand idea. “Bibi’s friend.”

  The woman was silent longer than felt comfortable. Either she hated his guts or had no clue what he was talking about. Her eyes, glazed and vacant, kept slanted down to the floor even with her head up.

  Bibi snapped to attention. “Oh, uh, right. Sorry, but yes, we’re friends.”

  “You say that like I just pulled a hose from your nose,” he teased.

  “Oh, it’s just doctor offices, you know. Pesky nerves.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Well, if you don’t consider the not being able to see thing, I guess not.”

  Was that a joke? He waited for her lead.

  Bibi rounded her shoulders higher and smiled. “She may be getting her sight back.”

  “Is that right? How wonderful then.”

  The woman cleared her throat as if she was already forgotten.

  Bibi stuttered, “Uh, oh, hey Mom, this is my boss.”

  “What boss, dear? And, since when?”

  “I mean, well, not my boss. He’s my…well…he and I are sort of…”

  William guffawed, “Publisher. I’m Bibi’s publisher.”

  “Right, Mom, he’s publishing my book. You know, the Christmas one?”

  His brow arched, intentionally. “Do you have more than one?”