by Bird, Peggy
What kind of trick is my mind playing on me? She opened her eyes again and scrutinized the man who said he was Blake Teasdale, the hero from her book in progress, Love’s Surprise.
At 6 feet, he certainly fit the bill. He had black wavy, nearly unruly, hair that danced wildly from side to side as he talked. The more animated his speech, the wilder his hair jostled about his tanned, ruggedly handsome face. And the more passionate he appeared on the topic at hand, the more his hair bounced.
It really didn’t matter what he talked about, the novelist recalled from the description of him she had painted. He was passionate about everything. And that was the trait that initially drew Alex Zurich to him. Now, it was coming back to her — the heroine also loved the man because he could make her laugh.
And Alex … well, she was beauty personified. The author liked to think she endowed her with every good quality she personally lacked. She also envisioned this fictional character as a classic beauty — something no one had ever accused JJ of being.
The novelist took another look at her. At nearly 5 feet 9 inches, this character had a small waist, slender hips and … she was … yeah, well endowed. Just enough to make her extremely attractive and mildly seductive. All of this was set off by her long, shapely legs that were seldom hid by a pair of jeans. In so many ways, she was a throwback to the 1940s pin up model.
If men were initially attracted to Alex because of her body, they were equally as intrigued by her face. Her dark hair framed green eyes that flashed when she was angry but sparkled like expertly cut emeralds when she laughed.
Now that she looked at them in more detail, JJ realized she did know them. Why of course! They were creations of hers, even though she couldn’t explain how they came to be standing in front of her like this.
“I smell coffee,” she said, slowly emerging from her fog-like state. “Is there any left? I could really go for a cup right about now.” Actually, she could use a stronger type of beverage, but coffee would have to do.
“Oh, yeah, there’s a quite a bit left,” he said, his voice brightening up a bit. “I’ll get you a cup.”
From the kitchen, he called, “I hadn’t known you drank my favorite brand of coffee — Starbuck’s French Roast. What a coincidence.”
Letting her guard down some, she couldn’t help but smile as she pleasantly answered, “Why do you think it’s your favorite?” What am I saying, talking to him like he’s really the hero from my book? Blake entered the room and handed her the coffee, leaning casually against her desk so he was across from her.
“Quite clever. Quite clever.” Alex positioned herself next to JJ on the sofa.
JJ took the coffee cup and tried to lift an eyebrow like she had some of her favorite characters do. But they refused to work independently of each other. So she had to settle for communicating through words, “How so?”
“Most people, upon discovering I’m English, naturally assume I drink only tea. But no, you break that stereotypical mold and make me an avid coffee lover. Touché!”
With some hot java circulating through her system, JJ could feel that helium in her head dissipating. The violent pounding eased. As her head cleared, JJ relaxed a bit. Surprisingly, she was beginning to feel quite at ease with these two intruders — whoever they were.
Then Alex decided it was time to pursue the real reason for their visit in a little more detail. She turned her body so she was facing JJ. “Can’t you see you two were made for each other?” she pleaded.
“Of course,” the Englishman volunteered. JJ swiftly looked in Blake’s direction attempting to make sense of the conversation. “Think of the encounter as a scene from one of your novels. All you need to do is kiss him, jump him, and get on with the good part of the relationship.”
At that, JJ gagged and spit out her coffee. Alex glared at him. “What?!” he said innocently. “I was only agreeing with you!”
“What he’s trying to say is that your chance meeting sounds exactly like something you’d write in one of your novels. And you know darn well that if you had written this, and you weren’t the main character of this episode (as you are!), the two of you would be approaching a love scene by now!”
The author looked at them blankly. “And just what and who are you talking about?”
“Why, Professor Kennedy King Cooper, of course! And don’t try to tell me you don’t remember him. You have to be totally out of it not to take note of a hunk like that!”
JJ, stunned by the subject of the conversation, didn’t even question how they knew about this dismal episode in her life. She hurriedly countered their amazingly stupid suggestion. The audacity of these two.
That … that man was the most ill-mannered, arrogant … She stopped herself in mid-thought, turning toward Alex.
“Oh, come on. You mean that man in the bookstore? I’ll never see him again. And thank goodness for that. He’s a sexist, elitist egotist.”
“You liked him that much,” Blake mumbled. Alex nudged him in the ribs.
“What?!” he whispered.
Chapter 3
The petite auburn-haired writer shook her head, thinking about that incident. She remembered it as if it happened yesterday. Wait! It did happen yesterday!
The “encounter” had started innocently enough … but then these things always did. Somehow, it had snowballed into a series of totally inane incidents. Before she knew it, she was knee deep into a conversation. Okay, it boiled over to a heated argument — with a total stranger (granted, a handsome total stranger) from which she couldn’t excuse herself.
And in some ways, she thought wistfully, it really was a shame. For the first few moments of their meeting, she did feel that special spark she endowed her heroines with. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she might say she was sexually attracted to him. That’s silly, though, you can’t be drawn to a man you don’t even know. That sort of emotion is … well, for the pages of fiction.
She had bumped into him — literally — at a book signing at the local bookstore, A Likely Story. After nearly an hour of nonstop smiling and autographing, JJ finally slipped away to browse the shelves. Being a former history professor herself, she naturally drifted to the history section of the store. Her eyes became laser beams as they locked in on all the new releases she’d missed the last several months since she’d buried herself in her fictional world. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking. And she walked right smack dab into him. Embarrassed, she looked up at him (Darn! Being five-two always seemed to put her at a disadvantage!). She apologized, but couldn’t help notice that he was not only good looking, but radiated a definite sensual aura. He appeared stately and almost distinguished, but something about his demeanor told her he had a lighter side to him.
He was tall, but, heck, everyone appeared tall to her! At least five ten, he even could have been six feet, though, for all JJ knew. His dark brown hair was so meticulously coifed, she couldn’t help but wonder if he were a news anchor.
His face looked surprisingly rugged for a figure that cut a stately stature. He possessed angular facial features, a square jaw, aquiline nose … features that, when viewed separately would appear harsh — even craggy. When combined on this man, though, they created an alarmingly handsome demeanor.
His sepia-brown eyes and the way the creases formed around them when he smiled revealed an innate boyish charm. If she were creating a hero for a novel, she would model the character after him.
It felt as if someone had trickled ice water down her spine as she took a step away from him. Then almost instinctively she checked what she was wearing. She couldn’t remember!
She wore — as was her custom for a professional appearance — her most conservative clothes. White button-up blouse, men’s cut, buttoned rather high, and a brown jacket were thrown over a pair of nice but not overly tight jeans. Wouldn’t you know it? When she dressed that morning she thought she presented a tastefully refined appearance. Now there were only two words she used t
o describe her appearance: Dowdy. Frumpy. And, yeah, ten years older than her actual age. Okay, so that ended up being more than two words. She stopped there, even though could have continued on in that vein for a while.
Just my luck, JJ thought, bedraggled ex-history professor meets hunk at book store — hunk yawns, excuses himself in a panic, and breaks the sound barrier running in the opposite direction.
Surprisingly, he didn’t run. Instead he struck up a conversation. They chatted politely about history. It seemed like the obvious topic with World War II flashing at them from the shelves and the civil rights movement towering over them. Then he made a remark about the book signing. JJ listened to it, amused, and then she slowly turned irritated as he rambled on about the absurdity of the “trash” of romance novels (his exact words, she recalled).
“It’s refreshing to see a woman who appreciates the finer points of an education,” he told her, “and doesn’t stoop to reading such mindless garbage. Only a hopelessly inane bimbo would read that stuff. And I couldn’t imagine what type of woman would actually lower herself to such depths to write that drivel.”
Just at that moment, as fate would have it, a fan walked up to JJ. “Excuse me, Ms. Sprightly. I hate to bother you, but the clerk said you wouldn’t mind. Would you please sign my copy of Love’s Revenge?”
She smiled, retrieved all the details needed for the autograph, chatted for a few moments with her fan, and then turned back to the gentleman. “And you were saying — ?”
The man’s jaw hung open wider than the entrance to a cavern. She, however, glowed. “Yep, that’s me,” she said. “And by the way, you know what this hopelessly inane bimbo — those were your words, weren’t they? — did before she became a full–time author? This bimbo was a history professor.” JJ abruptly turned on her heel, smiling broadly as she headed for the in-store café. She bought her favorite coffee, a caramel mocha, grabbed an Asiago pretzel as a treat, and went back to her seat at the book–signing table. Oh, yeah! Life was good!
Later the man stopped by the booth to apologize. JJ smiled graciously. Her thoughts, though, were anything but gracious. What a waste of a sexy, attractive body. It’s stuck in the mindset of such a pompous ass. Just my luck to finally meet a guy with some chemistry to him — and maybe some similar interests — and he’s not just the frog, but the pompous ass as well. And that’s my modern fairy tale.
“May I make this up to you?” he offered. He had asked for her phone number, but she declined to give it to him. Not to be brushed aside quite so easily, he handed her his business card. “Kennedy King Cooper, Professor of History, University of Northern Ohio,” it read.
“If you should like to go for coffee some time and help me remove my foot from my mouth, I’d be grateful.”
She held the card for a moment, almost tempted to take it. He did look attractive there in a boyish sort of way, part pouting, part pleading for a second chance to make a first impression. And, yes, she really did feel some type of attraction to him — pompous ass or not! But something told her not to take the card. She politely handed it back to him. “No thank you. I don’t think we have much more to talk about.” Thankfully, an individual with a book to sign walked up, signaling the end of the conversation.
• • •
“But he didn’t mean to be such a sexist, elitist egotist, JJ.” Alex pleaded the professor’s case for him. Remember the absolute bozo Blake was when I first met him? And we overcame it.”
Blake’s eyebrows scrunched together, his lower lip jutted out as he quietly muttered, “Bozo? I was a bozo?”
Alex calmly shook her head and took his hand. “You were a loveable bozo, honey.”
JJ, shaken from her reverie by Alex’s comments, looked at her two characters. They peered at her, still expecting some reaction.
Lowering her voice to almost a whisper, JJ said with a controlled anger, “He came off as a perfect pompous ass … ”
Chapter 4
“I did try to make amends by offering her my card. It was futile to think after that encounter that she would call me,” Kenn said as he stared trancelike into his cappuccino. He sat across from his college roommate, Rob Jenson, in a booth at the Physics Café, just off the campus of the University of Northern Ohio.
“Where did you meet this woman?” Rob asked as he swirled the coffee in his cup.
“At the bookstore. I saw her out of the corner of my eye,” Kenn said. “We accidentally bumped into each other in the history section. That’s when I made a pompous ass out of myself. For a fleeting moment, I thought I may have found the woman of my dreams — beautiful and fiery.”
He took the last sip of his coffee, then said, “And I didn’t know that I was about to find out just how fiery.”
“What happened?” Rob asked.
“I said something about admiring women who liked history. But I went just a bit too far in my compliment.”
Rob raised his eyebrows, indicating he wanted Kenn to continue.
“I had seen a table set up for some romance novelist who was doing a book signing. So I said something about why any woman would read romance novels, let alone write them. That’s when I found out she was the author signing those books.”
Rob gagged and spewed coffee all over the table. He coughed and placed his napkin over his mouth.
“You okay?”
Rob nodded yes, then finally managed to speak. “You say she was the novelist?”
“Yeah. I was pretty blunt in my opinions,” Kenn said, as he wiped the table. Not waiting for Rob to reply, he continued. “It’s sad, because if my mouth hadn’t worked faster than my brain, I may have had a real chance to get to know this woman.”
He paused. “But then again, why would I want to know a woman who writes such utter nonsense?”
“Kenn, why don’t you come to dinner one night? Nan knows some really nice women who would be perfect for you. A nice, friendly atmosphere, no pressure?”
Kenn laughed. “Not that again! I remember the last woman you introduced me to. What were you thinking? We had absolutely nothing in common.”
“I’m thinking about one person in particular. I think you two would get along really well.”
“I think I’ll pass.” Kenn looked into his cup. “I have to come to terms with the fact that everything happens for a reason. And this encounter is no different. After all, do I really want to spend the rest of my life with someone who writes romance novels? I think not.”
Rob gave his friend a faint smile. “That is something to consider, I suppose.”
The conversation turned to other matters. Finally, Kenn said, “I better stop at the office before heading home. Thanks for listening.”
As they left the café, Rob said, “Remember, Nan has lots of friends. You’ve got a standing invitation for dinner.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” Kenn said.
Chapter 5
“I don’t even know why I continue to argue with two fictional characters,” JJ said, her hand resting on the doorknob. After her second cup of coffee, the pounding in her head quit and she found she was able to stand and walk. She was ready to retire to her bedroom for the night.
“Wow, ‘fictional characters’ make us sound so … well … unreal.” Blake pinched himself in the forearm to show his creator he was as real as anything else in the room. “Ouch. See, that hurt me. I’m real.”
“But you’re not real. You’re just personalities I created. You are nothing more than two-dimensional characters in a love story … the love story I created. You are not real.”
JJ could hear Alex sniffle. She glanced over at her heroine whose eyes were tearing up. The writer fought back her first instinct of apologizing. She fought back that reflex of comforting her. She’s not real. She’s not real.
“So that could only mean one thing. I’m talking to myself right now.” She threw her hands into the air.
JJ turned the knob, but paused for a brief moment before opening it. “In the
morning, I’ll realize that this was all just a dream.” Or a really bad hallucination. “I’ll walk back in here tomorrow and it’ll be empty once again. My study will be quiet and serene … Good–bye.” JJ closed the door behind her and headed straight for bed.
A quick glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand told her it was midnight. Of course, the witching hour. All sorts of strange things are said to happen at midnight — fictional characters coming to life, for instance.
She pulled the blanket close around her neck, cocooning herself under the covers, feeling its comfort and warmth. She thought this is what a caterpillar must feel as he sleeps snugly inside his chrysalis.
She smiled, but knew full well the fundamental difference between her and the caterpillar. When the caterpillar awakes, he’ll be a beautiful butterfly. When I wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll be the same old me — minus the two fictional characters in the den, she thought.
She sighed and attempted to drift off. That whole episode was nothing more than a bad dream … a hallucination brought on by too much work Maybe my sister is right. Maybe I do work too much, and could it really be that I’m trying to live through my characters, as Nan claims? When they become real enough to me that I imagine I’m interacting with them in my study, maybe it is time to ease up just a bit.
Now, JJ’s mind went full speed ahead like a car careening carelessly out of control. Her thoughts naturally drifted toward the recent past. She couldn’t help but reflect on the last two years. It hadn’t been easy for her. But she was determined to continue with her work … to carry on with her career. That’s what Geoff would have wanted.
Her husband had died two years before. Valentine’s Day. Killed when the car in which he was a passenger hit another vehicle. The same day the publisher released her first novel. After all the encouragement Geoff provided her, tears of frustration he wiped away, and endless drafts he patiently waded through and edited, he never actually saw a book of hers in print.
