“I’m not just in New York on vacation. I wrote a romance novel a while ago and it was nominated for a prize. The dinner is tomorrow evening and I’ll know then whether it won. I’m sure that I didn’t, but it’s a great honor to be nominated.”
“Oh darling, that’s wonderful. Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“I was afraid you’d think less of me. The book’s a bit racy.”
“I don’t understand. I read a lot of romances, but I never read anything by you.”
“I wrote it under a pseudonym. I guess I was a bit embarrassed.”
“You’re hedging. Come on, out with it. What’s the name of the book?”
“I wrote The Love Flower under the name Nichole St. Michelle.”
There were several seconds of absolute silence on the other end of the phone. “Oh my. I’ve got a copy of the book right here,” the older woman said. “I never imagined. Oh my.” She started to laugh. “I never imagined….”
Fran lifted her chin and just waited for her mother’s reaction.
“You know, I gave a section of it to your father to read. That initiation scene where Rhona’s introduced to sex by the priest. Well, I don’t know whether I should tell you this, but, let’s just say he enjoyed it as much as I did a few minutes later.”
The picture of her parents rolling around the bed flashed through Fran’s mind. “Mother!”
“Wait until I tell your father. Oh my. Oh my.”
The two women talked for another half an hour, her mother anxious to hear the details of everything from getting the book published to the prize nomination. Finally, when Fran had told her mother everything she could, she finally said, “Listen, Mom, it’s been a really long day and I’ve got to sit and sign books all afternoon tomorrow.”
“Of course, dear. I keep forgetting the time difference. Get some sleep so you’ll look wonderful tomorrow. What are you wearing?”
After another few minutes of fashion tips, her mother finally said, “I can’t wait to tell your father. I just can’t wait. Please call me as soon as you know about the prize. I just can’t wait to tell your father. This is so exciting. Can I call Susan and tell her?”
The thought of going through the entire thing again for her sister exhausted her so Fran said, “Of course, Mom. Call Susan and give her all the gory details. I’ll call you both tomorrow evening late.”
“Just one more thing. How long will you be in New York?”
“I’m scheduled to go back to Omaha on Sunday.”
“Any thoughts of moving to The Big Apple?” her mother asked, giggling over the term. “To be closer to the publishing world and such?”
“Actually, I’m seriously considering it.” She might just do that.
“I can’t wait to hear about the prize.”
Fran heard her mother cover the mouthpiece of the phone and yell, “Vince, get up here. I’ve got very exciting news from Fran.” She uncovered the phone. “Darling, I’ll let you go. We love you and miss you.”
“I love you too, Mom. And give my love to Daddy.”
The two women blew kisses into the phone and then the line went dead. Slowly Fran hung up the receiver. She lay on the bed for several minutes, then went to her laptop and began to type. “Pleasures. A book proposal by Nichole St. Michelle.”
The following day whizzed by in a blur. Fran sat at the velvet-covered table in the main room of the conference and signed books for gushing women who were, “So honored to have an autographed copy.” Many confided that they already had copies of the book but they wanted another one, signed to them personally. Several women whispered that they had had great sex with their husbands after reading a particular scene. And the questions soon became repetitive and she gave that same charming answer each time.
“Ms. Michelle, who makes better lovers, French men or Italians?”
“I love men, no matter where they’re from,” she would answer.
“Don’t you just love the Louvre?”
“You know, I prefer being with people to being with great art.”
“I’ve always wanted to write a book like yours, Ms. St. Michelle. How did you get started?”
“I just sat down at a word processor and began to type. I used both my life and my fantasies in the book.”
“Have you done everything that Rhona did?”
She smiled. “And more.”
It was the most exhilarating afternoon of her life.
As the afternoon wore down, she chuckled internally as she realized that she hadn’t really needed all the “education” she’d worked so hard to get. She talked a good game and that was all that mattered. And with Jason, she’d been intelligent and witty, without pretense.
At five, she dashed back to her apartment to change for the dinner. She put on a black sequined top with a gold geometric design and her long black skirt. She fluffed her hair, put on shoulder-dusting gold earrings and carefully applied her makeup. She had a serious look at herself and realized that she was an amalgam of Nichole and Fran, and she liked it that way. She was herself and that was wonderful.
When she arrived at the door of the ballroom, there was a slight delay in finding her table assignment so she stood to one side, waiting. A woman’s voice hissed from behind her. “Well. I’m surprised you even showed up.”
Fran turned to see Diane Barklay. Her stomach clenched, but she forced her muscles to relax. She took a deep breath. “You know,” Fran said, gently, “I hope you win.”
“Excuse me?” Diane said.
“I just said that I hope you win. You obviously have so little that this is enormously important to you.” She brushed some nonexistent lint from her shoulder. “I have so much that this is of little consequence. Obviously you need it more than I do.”
Diane’s mouth fell open as someone handed Fran her place card and she walked away.
She found her table and joined Sandy and Eileen and their husbands, and Carla and several other editors from Majestic Books. The evening sped by. At one point, she slipped Eileen a fifteen-page proposal for her new book. “It’s really good,” Fran whispered. “I can’t wait to get started on it.”
“I have no doubt that it’s wonderful. Sandy and I loved the idea when you told us about it so I’ll read it and, unless there’s some problem, I’ll pass it along to Sandy.”
Later, she and Carla again discussed the possibility of Fran’s moving to New York. “It would be so great,” Carla said. “I’m really down at the thought of never seeing you again. We’ve gotten so close. And, besides Ronnie, I don’t have a lot of real friends.”
Fran grinned. “Me too. I think you’ll be hearing from me sooner than you might expect.”
The lights dimmed and a man walked up to the podium. “That’s Peter Hunt,” Sandy whispered in Fran’s ear.
“Who’s he?”
Sandy turned to her. “Only the most influential literary agent in New York.”
“Oh,” Fran said.
After several stale jokes, Peter Hunt said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to announce this year’s winner of The Madison Prize. Let me take a minute to congratulate all the nominees.” He called the five names and each stood to loud applause. Fran’s was the last name called and she rose, listened to the ovation, then quickly sat back down.
“Each of this year’s novels had something a little different to offer and our choice was a difficult one. We had Alaska, World War I, we had passion and great writing.”
He paused as the audience again applauded the nominees. “We discussed it all at great length and finally decided to give this year’s Madison Prize to an author whose work has grown and expanded over the years, who has taken us from Barbara Cartland’s fade-to-black-in-the-bedroom to Nichole St. Michelle’s wonderfully erotic novel.”
Fran realized that, although it was obvious that she hadn’t won, she was being paid a great compliment.
“So I am proud to award the prize to Virginia Cortez.”
A
mid a tremendous round of applause, a large woman, clothed in lots of flowing rayon, rose and walked to the podium. Sandy squeezed Fran’s hand. “I’m really sorry.”
“You know,” Fran whispered, “I’m disappointed, of course, but I’m going to write Pleasures and I’m going to enjoy doing it. I just love all of this.”
“That’s a great attitude.”
After the presentation, the crowd quickly dispersed. Fran caught a glimpse of Diane on the arm of an attractive man. She looked dejected but Fran knew she would adjust and probably be nominated again.
As she stood up to leave, she gathered Carla, Eileen and Sandy around her. “You know what I’ve discovered?” Fran said to the three women who had become so important to her. “It took all this to help me understand what makes me happy. First, and most important, friends.” She hugged each woman tightly. “And then my writing and living life to the fullest. If not now, when? So I’m going after it. I think I’m going to move here and do what I love.” She winked at Carla, whose eyes sparkled with amusement.
“All I can say is that I’m thrilled and excited and I can’t wait to begin.”
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2007 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Black Satin copyright © 1995 by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
The Love Flower copyright © 1998 by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
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ISBN: 978-0-758-28320-7
Made For Sex Page 44
