I had a dial-up internet connection which ran through my phone line. So, when my phone rang I was already in a bad mood. That meant my internet service provider had kicked me off again. It always pissed me off when that happened, but it pissed me off even more since I was waiting for a response.
“Hello?” I answered angrily.
“Hello. This is Victoria Mathis. May I speak with Jewel?”
“This is she,” I answered, but my body was starting to go into shock.
“As you may know, I’m the editor and chief with--”
“I know who you are,” I said, cutting her off. Then I immediately started to ramble. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s just that I didn’t expect a call from the editor and chief. Look, about that partial I turned in I’m really sorry it’s--”
“Brilliant,” she said, cutting me off this time.
“Excuse me?”
“The partial,” she said slowly, “it’s absolutely brilliant. It’s also the reason I called.”
I was quiet for a moment and so was she. I didn’t know how to respond. I’d expected they would like the story, but I had no idea it would get this kind of reaction.
After a moment she spoke again and there was a different tone to her voice. She hadn’t sounded haughty before, perhaps superior was a better word. But there was none of that now. She sounded kind and surprisingly understanding.
“Look, Jewel, I’ve been where you are before. I started out on the bottom and honey I mean the bottom. When I had my first book published no one had ever heard of me before, but in ten years time there was scarcely a person in this industry who didn’t know my name. I know what it’s like to want to go somewhere and have no idea how to get there. I’m telling you this because you’ve got potential. Believe it or not I don’t give a lot of pep talks, so consider yourself fortunate.”
I was still too stunned for words. Victoria cleared her throat and said, “Now the reason I called is this partial. How long do you think it would take for you to finish this book, not just a draft, but polished to within an inch of its life and ready to turn over?”
“Maybe another month,” I said. “I’m almost finished now.”
“Good. We’re getting ready to launch a new line. It will be just for paranormals and stories with gothic undertones. We’re going to call it Dark Deeds.”
“You want my book to be a part of the new line?” I asked incredulously.
“No, honey, we want it to launch the new line.”
* * * *
That phone call three years ago changed my life and I haven’t looked back since. The trilogy I ended up writing was called The Incubus Chronicles. Book one was launched that next fall and was a tremendous success. It topped every chart it could possibly top for the following six months. With it being the book my publisher selected to launch their new line, they paid for all the publicity. Representatives from the company talked to newspapers, sent out press releases, set up signings with bookstores and everything. There were ads in every major magazine I could think of. And you know what was in those ads? My name. There were even billboards in some places announcing when my next book signing was. For the most part all I had to do was sit back and watch and show up at a few signings. It was a dream come true.
My money troubles were over. All of my bills were paid and I was living in my own house now. I bought an old antebellum mansion on the opposite end of town and was in the process of having it completely renovated. The second book in the chronicles had just been released and was so far topping sales for the first. It was more than I could ever have hoped for.
Things were good all over as the saying goes. Matthew and I had dated off and on over the past three years and ended up as best friends rather than lovers. And he had finally gotten to start living his dream of becoming a great director. He did a couple of independent films that had fairly good success and thanks to his ties with me he’d been hired to direct a movie based on my books.
I was now on a first name basis with my editor and she had referred me to a brilliant agent who negotiated the movie deal. The one major thing I’d changed about the story was to make Savannah the central location. Vincent still traveled, but I had most of the story take place in my own back yard (so to speak). Since he never said exactly where he was most of the time, I decided to put him someplace I knew well. Even after what I’d done I wanted so much to make the stories my own. I wanted Vincent to be my own.
As I rolled out of bed that morning and took a look around, a familiar feeling of awe settled over me.
“Is this really mine?” I whispered as I looked at the canopy above my bed.
It was all too good to be true. Most of the renovations to the old mansion were complete. All that was left to finish was one guest room downstairs, the parlor floor and a guest bathroom. Everything as far as the eye could see was perfect. My whole life was perfect … except what I’d started to call indigestion. That’s what I’d termed the gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach when someone complimented me on my work. Not just regular compliments, but the ones who were over the top.
An article I’d read the other day said, “Ms. Mathers, like her characters, has achieved immortality. Through her words she has left a legacy. She has written something that will stand the test of time … and in doing so she has discovered the secret to eternal life. Immortality through words.”
No doubt the best review I’d ever read and it made me feel like shit. In spite of my success, there was hardly a day that I didn’t consider what I’d done. No one would have ever heard of Vincent or his story if it weren’t for me. And that was a good thing in my opinion. He was worth knowing. Vincent’s story was worth telling. Didn’t I deserve something for that … besides lynching?
I pulled off the thin gown I’d slept in and accidentally threw it onto my cat.
“Sorry, Tang.” The cat hissed at me and rolled over onto my bedroom shoes.
I couldn’t help laughing at the way his jelly rolls spread across my fluffy slippers. I loved big fat cats. I bent down to pet him and as the cat started to purr I knew my earlier offense was forgotten. He brushed against my hand one more time before leaping onto the bed. No doubt to steal what warmth was left from the covers.
A chill ran through me and I shivered as I turned back to the task at hand. I had straightened my hair the night before, so I didn’t have to do anything besides run a comb through it this morning. It hung in long silky layers to the middle of my back. I smoothed down my bangs before considering what I was going to wear. I needed an outfit that said confident and successful, but not full of myself.
Finally, I selected a pair of well fitted jeans, a black belt, a black t-shirt and a matching blazer. Fall was unseasonably chilly this year, so I chose a red scarf to wear with it all. I had just zipped up my knee high boots when my cell phone rang.
Actually, it vibrated and fell off the nightstand. I took a quick glance at the caller id as I picked it up.
“Matt, where are you?”
Matthew was supposed to pick me up any minute. We were going into town to watch the auditions.
“I’m just about to turn in your driveway. Are you ready?”
“Yep.”
“See you in a minute.”
It was in my contract that I got to make creative decisions, which meant I also had influence over casting. I wanted to be sure that whoever was chosen was right for the part. And if I was honest with myself I really wanted to see someone who could portray Vincent the way I pictured him.
As strange as it may sound, Vincent had become a part of me and yet he was the only thing missing from my happiness. I had figured that after reading all of his journals I would have dreamed about him even more. But that was not the case. I used his absence in my dreams to try and convince myself that it was all my imagination in the first place. However, all the fan letters and my own sleepless nights thinking about him had convinced me that Vincent was still a big part of my life.
&n
bsp; When people heard that Matt and I used to date he would tease me by saying that he just couldn’t compete with Vincent. The sad thing is, it was true. I couldn’t count the times I had re-read his story over the past three years and each time it felt like a piece of him stayed with me afterward. Somewhere over time I had fallen in love with him … and he wasn’t even real. Sure, he was real to me, just like all characters in a story are real to the writer. But Vincent was more than that. I felt as if I belonged to him. He was like a blanket of security I took with me everywhere I went. I was his and that knowledge made me feel somehow protected.
I was snapped out of my reverie by the doorbell. I answered the door to find Matthew’s shaggy blond hair reflecting the sunlight and as he smiled down at me I stood on tiptoe in order to kiss him. The kiss wasn’t sexual, I just had a hard time resisting his mouth.
“What was that for?”
“Because I like your smile.”
“We’re going to be late,” he said, taking me by the hand. “I promise I’ll smile all you want later.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I teased as we walked down the steps to his car.
Success hadn’t changed Matt one bit, except that he smiled more often. He still drove the same old car which he claimed was a classic. I said it at least needed a new paint job.
“I thought this might help get you through the morning.” He handed me a cup of coffee as he spoke.
I popped the little tab on top and took a sip.
“Mmmm, vanilla.”
“You’re welcome.”
As he drove down my long winding driveway Matthew asked, “So, how’s Vincent today?”
This had become an ongoing joke with us. I had a bad habit of referring to Vincent as if he were real.
“You buttcrack,” I said with a laugh.
“Hey, I think it’s completely reasonable,” he insisted. “I’d like to know how the invisible man I can’t compete with is doing.”
He was still smiling, but I could sense a familiar argument stirring up again.
“Not today, Matt,” I said softly.
“You’re right. I guess I’m just nervous about all this. Picking a fight would probably make me feel better.”
“Well, it would ruin my day.”
“Jewel, I’m not sure I’m up to this,” he said suddenly. “I’m really not. I’ve just directed a couple of small films. There were no expectations … no ready-made audience waiting to see how bad I screwed up the story--”
“You’ll do fine,” I assured him. “I’ve got faith in you.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand as we turned toward the old theatre where auditions were scheduled to take place. The plan was to make a movie for each book so the first order of business was casting Vincent. I had insisted that I didn’t want any big names involved. I wanted people to watch the movie because it interested them, not because so-and-so was staring in it. Matthew agreed. He wanted to give an opportunity to new talent, like both of us had finally been given a chance.
Not only that, but ten percent of the proceeds would be donated to charity. Everyone made a big deal out of it when I made that decision, but I wasn’t doing it for that reason. I knew what it was like to not have anything and now that I was in a position where I could, I wanted to help people. I didn’t do it for publicity or to make myself look special. I did it because I needed to. Since I still had a lingering bitterness toward the general public, I chose to give to children’s charities. Children were not responsible for their own circumstances the way adults were. If I could spare anyone from suffering, it would be a child.
When we arrived cars and people were lined up around the building. I was shocked. I knew that the books were a huge success, I just hadn’t expected this. It was still new to me, being a success. Matt pulled around the back of the building and into a space with a sign which read, “Reserved for Director.”
“Wow,” he said as he put the car in park. “Fuck me.”
I laughed as he got out to open my door. We were ushered in the back by a couple of guys who looked like bouncers.
“Right this way, Mr. Conley,” one of the men said.
“Matthew,” he corrected. When the man gave him a strange look he explained, “I feel weird when people call me mister.”
The other man laughed and said, “Right this way, Matthew.”
The theatre had a small screening room near the back of the building and this was where we would be watching the auditions.
Chapter Four
Only myself and a few other people were actually in the screening room. Other people who were involved with the production in some way were seated behind a two-way mirror. I think this was just to keep the actors from being too nervous. At least, that was my guess. I’d never made a movie before, so I really had no clue.
Cameras were set up to film the auditions and I took my place behind a small table while Matt checked the equipment. It was just me and Matt and a few other people I hadn’t met yet.
“Mary Wright,” a tall brunette to my left said, extending her hand. “I’m in charge of casting.”
“Jewel Mathers. Pleased to meet you.”
“Walter Jenkins,” the man beside her said. “I’m the producer.”
“Well,” Mary said. “Now that we’re all acquainted are we ready to do this?”
Matt sat down on my other side and Mary turned toward us as she continued to speak.
“I’m not too proud to admit that I am eagerly awaiting the third book,” she said. “So far, it’s like nothing I’ve ever read and I’m loving it. As I’m sure you’ll all agree, if we’re going to pull this off, the entire project hinges on who we cast as Vincent.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said.
“If we can’t find someone who can pull off the part, then the entire project is a bust,” Mary said.
Both men nodded their agreement and after a few more brief words we started looking for Vincent. My heart fluttered at the very idea of seeing my vision come to life. Was there really someone out there like him? Someone whose eyes spoke more than his words.
One after another we watched as countless men tried out for the part of Vincent. Some of them had obviously gone to great lengths to try to look the part, but they simply couldn’t act. Others didn’t really look the part, but could read the lines fairly well. Some didn’t have any real hope of getting the part, but had shown up just to meet me. I found this both flattering and a little bit unnerving. A few even asked me out before having Matt show them to the door.
It seemed like the entire day was one big blur. A blur filled with long dark hair and men who weren’t used to painting their fingernails black, but had done so because in the books Vincent was fond of black nail polish.
“What time is it?” Mary asked wearily.
“I’m not sure, but it’s getting dark,” Matt answered as he reentered the room.
He’d gone to get everyone some coffee. Of course there were people who would have willingly gone rather than make the director fetch his own coffee, but he’d insisted. He was used to getting his own coffee and as he’d put it, he needed to stretch his legs.
“One more and let’s call it a day,” Mary said to us, making it a question.
“Sounds good to me,” I answered.
“One more,” she said to the man at the door. He’d been letting the actors in single file for most of the afternoon. “You’ve read the books, haven’t you?” she asked him. “Pick someone who looks like Vincent to you and send him in.”
After a few minutes he returned. “You aren’t going to believe this.”
“Believe what?” Matt asked.
“About a minute ago this guy just walks up, introduces himself as Vincent and asked to speak with Ms. Mathers.”
“Does he look the part?” I asked as Matthew said, “He broke line?”
“He wasn’t in line. He walked in off the street and came right up to me like he knew I was looking for one more person. An
d yes ma’am, he looks the part.”
“Send him in,” I said, before anyone else could respond.
A moment later a dark vision floated in from the doorway. He was around six foot two and his long hair was like polished obsidian underneath the lights. He had a thin moustache and short goatee which came to a small point beneath his chin. His every movement spoke of confidence and power, especially his walk. He moved into the center of the room with a grace and fluidity I hadn’t known a human being could possess. I’d thought to only find such qualities in stories … in my stories.
He was dressed all in black which contrasted well with his alabaster skin. With a swish of fabric he removed his long coat to reveal the red liner, the only color in his ensemble. I also noticed that his fingernails were painted black. However, unlike the other men with black fingernails I’d seen that day, it went with him. He looked like the kind of man who would have painted them black whether or not he was coming for a vampire audition that evening.
When he removed his coat he also revealed more of his body. He was very well put together to say the least. Tight black pants clung to his legs and I wanted very much to ask him to turn around. The shirt he was wearing looked to be made of silk and I imagined what the fabric would feel like beneath my hands. But more than that, I imagined what he would feel like beneath my body. I wanted to touch him in ways I cannot describe. In ways that shocked even myself … in ways I had touched Vincent in my mind so many times.
“What’s your name?” I asked and my voice was breathy.
He turned to me and I was captured. This man had Vincent’s bedroom eyes. I don’t mean he just looked like him. Those were the same eyes that had held me so many years ago, I was certain of it.
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the ridiculous thought. And I had almost succeeded when he replied, “Vincent Marcellus.”
His voice was sweet and sultry, like warm honey. It flowed over and through me like the most delicate fabric. It brushed through my mind like velvet covered fingers and brought an unbidden gasp from my lips.
“We need your name for the record,” Matt said from behind me.
Diary of an Incubus Page 3
