Stressed!

by Deborah Martin

  “You didn’t tell me you were writing!” was how she greeted me.

  “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew whether I could or not. I kind of like it but want another opinion. You up for a read?”

  “Of course! I love romance novels. You pour the wine – I want to dig in right away!”

  I poured us each a glass of wine and turned the television on low. Her cat, Merlin, jumped into my lap and settled there. She looked up once at what I’d turned on and grimaced. “Baseball?”

  “I happen to like baseball. Go back to reading.”

  Two hours later, the Twins had won their game, we’d gone through almost a full bottle of wine and she’d used up a half box of tissues. “This is wonderful! I don’t know how but you managed to turn a were into a sympathetic being. I’ve never read anything like it!”

  I blushed. “Now the question is: will any publisher like it? I guess I have to do the regular ‘Here’s my book, wanna publish it?’ thing. I’m not sure I’m any good at writing stuff like that.”

  “We’ll do it together. I write all the marketing copy for the deli and ain’t so bad at it, if I do say so myself. But not tonight. Let’s celebrate you finishing it and do the serious stuff Monday night, huh?”

  Celebrate we did. I staggered home about 2:00 a.m., glad I didn’t encounter any of the local constabulary who probably would have taken me in for public drunkenness. Fudge, of course, wasn’t at all happy that his dinner was so late. I told him he should be glad I came home at all and only slightly missed the dish with his serving of kibble before falling into bed completely clothed.

  I missed most of Sunday. The sun naturally woke me up early but instead of heading for the coffee, I gulped down two large glasses of water and a couple aspirin before crawling back into bed and pulling the covers completely over me. It had been a very long time since I’d had that bad of a hangover but then again, I usually managed to control my intake and drink plenty of water in between glasses of alcohol.

  It was starting to get dark when I finally emerged from my hole, vowing not to repeat the previous night for quite some time. I shared some soup and crackers with Fudge, showered and headed back to bed.

  Monday after my nap, Cassandra and I ate leftovers from the deli and then started doing research on the Internet about romance publishers. There were plenty to choose from but I wanted one who’d be willing to take on the paranormal aspect of it, too. That narrowed it down to three. Paranormal romance was just beginning to take off and there were only a handful of authors writing it. Cassandra did a marvelous job of constructing the inquiry, which I sent off when I got home via an anonymous Gmail account.

  Here’s where having a witch as a friend comes in handy. Before I left for home, Cassandra took my manuscript back into her workroom. I followed, really curious.

  Her workroom used to be a porch at the back of the house that her father had converted into a four-season room for his mother. It had a lot of windows (with drapes unmolested by cats to block out curious eyes); the longest side looked out on the garden. He’d taken out the original outside door and enlarged the doorway to a lovely archway. He also added a door to an attached greenhouse, which opened to the outside. Dad had even added a fireplace at one end so if not for the shelves, a workbench and one rather large étagère that doubled as an altar, it would have made a cozy family room. The dried herbs hanging from the ceiling gave it a wonderfully-scented atmosphere.

  Cassandra made one concession to convenience and summertime heat: she’d installed a small, propane-fueled camping stove next to the workbench.

  She started pulling jars off shelves with Merlin’s close supervision. A pinch of this and a pinch of that went into a mortar and pestle. After grinding all that a bit, she pulled out an old cast-iron pot (oops, cauldron), lit the flame on the stove, put the pot on the stove, added the contents of the mortar and some liquid out of another jar. As she stirred, she said something under her breath. After there was a ‘poof’ sound and some smoke from the cauldron, she drew some liquid from the pot into a pipette and dropped it on the first page of the manuscript, muttering some other things as she did.

  She cleaned up her mess, putting the now-used herbs into a plastic tub I knew she used for kitchen waste that would eventually end up in her compost pile in the back yard. “There, it’s done,” she said as she handed the manuscript back to me.

  “So, what did you do besides make the first page look and smell funny?”

  “I did a spell so your manuscript would find the right ‘home’. Keep it on your desk next to your computer and when you send those inquiry emails, ask the manuscript to find a home.”

  The three publishers we’d chosen wanted all submissions sent electronically. I thought spells would only work if someone held the manuscript in their hands but she assured me that wasn’t the case. How that transmitted through the wires, airwaves, however the Internet works is beyond me, but however foolish I felt, I did as she instructed. It worked.

  Within a week I had three responses. All three publishers were interested in reading the first couple of chapters, so I did a cut-and-paste and sent the new document along. One of the three sent me a publishing contract. I’d never had to handle anything heavier than an apartment lease and really didn’t want to involve Ev’s attorney. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to involve Ev at all.

  Cassandra had her lawyer look it over for me and he declared it OK for me to sign. We had another ‘celebration’ night but this time I took it easy and only got a little tipsy. That’s when we came up with the idea for my pseudonym so even if anyone in Ev’s circles read books like that, they’d have no idea who the author was.

  She also did her ‘thing’ over the contract before I mailed it back. I got a wonderful editor (who, I learned years later, was also a witch still in the broom closet) and a year later, Full Moon, Dark Moon hit the shelves.

  I took Cassandra out to dinner at a really posh place out by the airport with my first royalty check. I could afford to. I’d sold nearly 10,000 copies in the first six months and the check was a nice one.

  The next two books also sold well. The characters were always loosely-based on people I’d met working for Ev. At that point I probably could have given up my job and written full time but then I’d lose my pool of characters. Besides, I was building up a nice nest egg that I only wanted to see grow. I didn’t have any problem sitting at my computer a couple of nights a week and one weekend day, knocking out a book every nine months or so. Hey, a girl has to have a hobby!

  Damn, I needed to stop thinking about the past and get on with the present! I must have looked like I was procrastinating. I was sitting at my desk, Fudge doing his usual sleepy supervising but all of a sudden, I felt paws batting my hands. It was time to get back to work. I’d just finished the final editing on my fourth book and here I was, ready to go on another, this time basing a couple of the characters on Andy and Happy. The words flowed from my fingers.

  I wrote until nap time and spent my evening engrossed in a movie on television. I didn’t usually watch television except for the occasional baseball game but I was on ‘vacation’ and could indulge myself a little. Friday was a repeat of Thursday. I could get into lazy mornings!

  Saturday I decided maybe I’d better be practical so instead of lazing around in the morning, I hit the market. Both Fudge and I needed food and it was time to do laundry but I was out of detergent. I usually shopped during the week and regretted not doing so this time. Everyone and their brother were out shopping. The aisles were crowded, checkout lines long and children screamed their frustration at not getting whatever it was they wanted off the shelf. I got back to my apartment with groceries and frayed nerves, and vowed to go back to shopping on weekdays only.

  Although I love writing and could probably do it most of my waking hours, I’d never met a cleaning fairy so I spent a very practical Saturday working out my frustrations from the market … doing laundry, scrubbing the bath, slinging a dus
t rag about and Fudge’s least favorite activity: vacuuming. He didn’t emerge from under the bed until it was nap time.

  I’d just laid down when there was a pounding on my door. Throwing on a caftan so I wouldn’t answer the door in my bathrobe in the afternoon, I looked through the peephole to find Ev standing there, his skin a deep purple – he was seriously pissed about something. When I opened it, he pushed his way in with, “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been trying to get hold of you since noon.”

  “Ev, if you recall, I am off work until Monday. I turned the phone off to have some peace and quiet. It’s also Saturday and I thought we agreed a long time ago that I didn’t work weekends.”

  “Yeah, I know all that but this is an emergency. I need your help bad.” Ev paced around my living room which was an interesting sight. At over seven feet tall, he just about grazed the ceiling and had to duck to avoid the ceiling fan with each pass.

  “So what’s the emergency this time?” I asked. “And it had better be good. We had a deal, if you’ll recall.”

  “Happy is throwing a party at his hotel tonight and has insisted that I and my wife attend. I tried to get out of it by saying we had another party to go to tonight but he told me to cancel our plans and come to his. I have to go and I need you with me.”

  “Ev, sit down. You’re going to break my ceiling fan if you don’t. Now, I want you to tell me exactly why Happy has such a hold over you and if you don’t tell me the truth, not only will I not go with you tonight but I’ll tender my resignation effective immediately.”

  While he plopped down on my couch, causing the springs to groan, I poured him a glass of water, which he immediately gulped down and handed back to me for a refill. He really was upset. Ev usually disdained anything healthy like plain water, instead opting for can after can of full-sugar soda. I tried to get him to drink the diet version early in our relationship but he spit out the first sip of the first can. I gave up at that point and grimaced at the weekly delivery of cases of soda. We had an open account with the local Coke people.

  “As you learned the other night, Happy and I met when I lived in Los Angeles. I hadn’t even turned 100 yet, was full of myself and randy as a bull. [The thought, “So what’s changed?” flashed through my mind.] I met him at a club similar to Club Tread when I was working as a bouncer. He was one of the members. Yes, I know how he looks but I just assumed he was a species I hadn’t yet come across. Since he was always polite and didn’t treat us bouncers like we had nothing between the ears, I liked him.

  “Well, we sort of became friends. We played golf on occasion, ran across each other at the different clubs and if he met a girl he thought could handle someone my size, he made sure to introduce us. I liked the girls he brought to me and we had fun so obviously, he knew my taste in women.

  “Ten years or so after we met, I was working as a bodyguard for one of John’s clients. John was a member of that club, too, and had offered me a job that paid three times what I was making as a bouncer. Sure, the hours were irregular but I couldn’t turn down the pay. On top of it, the guy I was looking after went to all these fancy parties and I got to meet even more girls. As a matter of fact, my life was so busy that when Happy wanted to introduce me to someone, I told him I simply didn’t have time for any more girls.

  “For some reason, Happy didn’t like the fact that I wouldn’t see one of ‘his’ girls. He threatened to curse me but as you know, spells just bounce off ogres so I wasn’t worried. I laughed. Happy got even madder and said, “Do you have any idea who and what I am?”

  “No, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?” I replied. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. If you wanted more than friendship you wouldn’t want to curse me over something as trivial as a girl, so I’m not interested.”

  “He spit back at me, ‘I had your life all planned out for you but this is just a detour in the journey. Eventually you’ll want to get married but I bet you can’t find the right girl. You’ll come crawling back to me in fifty years, begging me to find you a girl to settle down with. At that point, you will be mine.’ With that, he went ‘poof’ and I didn’t see him from that point until the other night.

  “A few years after that, I found out just what Happy was. Although he is usually described as a devil, he’s just a demon. [Good. No souls involved. Or maybe that was just my Christian upbringing speaking.] I still wasn’t bothered until my Grandpa told me that these guys can be really irritating – he had one dogging him for a couple hundred years until he married my grandmother. They’re immortal so they can pop back into your life at any time and bug you until you’re miserable. I really don’t want him popping in and out over the next five hundred years, so the easiest way to get him off my back is to be happily married.

  “I thought I’d solved everything Wednesday night but something must not have sat right with him. I know it probably seems trivial to you but he’s well-connected and if he wants, could easily muck things up on the business end as well as in my personal life. Please Amy, be my wife again one more night. Whatever was bothering him from the other night we’ll figure out, huh?”

  I should have gone out of town instead of staying home. A friend owned a cabin up north and I could have borrowed it, rented a car, taken my laptop, and written there as easily at home. Fudge would have liked the change of scenery. But no. I had to think I’d be just fine at home and Ev wouldn’t bother me at all.

  On the other hand, I really didn’t like bullies or pests. And unless the issue of Happy was resolved, I’d probably hear about the trials and tribulations he caused until I decided to quit my job or retire. But … what could I get out of Ev for saving his butt one more time?

  “I’ll go but what you owe me has just skyrocketed. I haven’t yet figured out how you’re going to repay me but you will – with interest,” I told him. “To start with, you’re going to take me to dinner at McCarthy’s before the party. Now scoot. I expect you and Gregory back here at eight.” (McCarthy’s was a very exclusive, very expensive restaurant downtown.)

  “McCarthy’s? I can’t get reservations there on just a couple hours’ notice.”

  “Sure you can. I’ve seen you do it before when you wanted to impress a girl. Impress me. Now go!” I pushed him toward the door. Not that I could really make him go if he didn’t want to (that size thing, again) but he was already on his cell before I got the door closed.

  Chapter 6

  I wasn’t really too put out at having to go to a party. Honestly? I’d had enough of my apartment for the moment and had seriously considered walking over to the local pub for dinner and a drink that evening.

  Murphy’s Pub was about as Irish as you could get: corned beef and cabbage on the menu, Guinness on tap, Irish jig music playing quietly in the background. It was catty-corner across the street from the office and had become my hangout when I didn’t feel like staying at home but didn’t want to go partying. It was also one of the places Cassandra had shown me where I didn’t have to worry about fending off guys. Most of the clientele lived within staggering distance and were pretty equally split between human and non-human. Cork Murphy was part giant and didn’t tolerate any kind of bull. He’d throw you out if you looked wrong at any of his customers. It was a comfortable joint.

  Instead, I grabbed a granola bar and went to comb my closet for something that would say “rich, happily married woman”. (Was there such a thing?) I finally pulled out a dress I hadn’t worn in several years. Can’t figure out why. I loved it. It was a deep purple one-shouldered silk thing that flowed like a Greek goddess’ gown. I always felt like I was about six feet tall when I wore it. In the strappy heels I wore with it I maybe hit 5’7”. But it was the thought that counted. Maybe it was the color? I know purple is the color of royalty and is considered to be a power color. Anyways, I always felt good in that dress.

  Since I had a little time, I took the pains to curl my hair and put it up á la that Greek goddess with ringlets hanging halfwa
y down my back. A heavy application of hairspray ensured it would stay curled, even in summertime humidity. By the time I’d put the ‘wedding ring’ back on and added a rhinestone necklace and earrings, it was damned near eight. There were times I wished I’d have been born a man. About all they had to decide was black, blue or brown suit; then which tie went with whichever suit they’d pulled out. Run a comb through their hair and they were ready to go.

  Knowing I was going to be coming home late, I put Fudge’s food down so he wouldn’t rip my dress to shreds when I came back in. I’d just slipped my shoes on when Gregory knocked at the door.

  I climbed into the back of the limo with Ev and immediately started choking. The smell of patchouli was overwhelming. “What in the hell did you put on?” I asked.

  “You always complain about how I smell so I thought I’d cover up whatever bothered you. Did I use too much aftershave?”

  To hell with privacy and to hell with my hairdo. I hit the buttons that would roll down both windows and open the sunroof. “That would be a slight understatement,” I told him. “Hopefully by the time we arrive at the restaurant, it’ll have dissipated enough that I won’t be tasting patchouli instead of food, nor will the people at the surrounding tables.”

  Ev looked sheepish. “I was just trying to help.”

  “Next time, use about a quarter of what you did this time, OK?”

  Within fifteen minutes, Gregory pulled up at McCarthy’s. “See, I said you could get a reservation if you really put your mind to it,” I said. “Hang on. Let me see if I can do something with the mess that is now my hair.” Ever-hold is indeed a wonderful product. All I had to do was finger-comb everything back into place. If you have really straight hair and want curls, I’d highly recommend it. Just be prepared to shampoo your hair several times to get it all out.