Copycat

by Kimberla Lawson Roby

  She answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Simone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, this is Traci. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, not at all, and thank you so, so much for calling me. I can’t believe you had time to talk right away tonight.”

  “You’re quite welcome. Also, how did your hair turn out? Did you like Renee and the way she styled it?”

  “I love it. She did such a great job, and I’ll definitely be going back to her.”

  “Wonderful. I knew you’d be happy.”

  “Calling to make an appointment was the best thing I could’ve done.”

  “So,” Traci said, “you mentioned in your message that you’ve wanted to write since high school.”

  “I have. I took a creative writing class, and from the first day, I knew I wanted to write fiction. In the beginning, I was just thinking short stories, but it wasn’t long before my dream was to write a novel. Actually, a romance novel. So what about you?”

  “I knew when I was in high school, too, that I wanted to have a career in writing, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write books or magazine articles. I also loved my journalism classes, so there was a time when I wanted to be a news anchor. But by the time I finished college, I knew that my purpose in life was to write novels. Especially mainstream women’s fiction.”

  “Wow, I can’t believe we have the whole high school thing in common,” Simone said.

  Traci leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, I know, but look how long it took me to get published. I turned forty in January, and my first book wasn’t published until two years ago.”

  “Well, it’s taken me even longer, but oh my goodness…did you say forty? I turned forty last week.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, so I guess we have that in common, too.”

  “I guess so,” Traci agreed. “Did you do anything special for your birthday?”

  “No, not really. Did you?”

  “My sister put together a girls’ trip with some friends of ours, and we celebrated in Florida.”

  “I’ll bet that was nice.”

  “It was. So hey, how far along are you with your book? I know you said you’d finished writing it, but have you already gotten it edited and proofed?”

  “No, I haven’t done anything. But I would definitely like to hire a freelance editor.”

  “I can give you some names of content editors, copyeditors, and proofreaders, because before it’s all done, you’ll need all three.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “After that, you should start writing query letters to send out to agents. You can try submitting directly to editors at publishing houses, but if you can sign with a reputable agent, your chances of getting published will be that much better.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard, and I appreciate anything you can do to help me.”

  “My agent doesn’t represent romance, but I can certainly ask her for the names of agents who do.”

  “How kind of you. You would actually do that?”

  “Of course. I mean, I know I can’t promise anything, but at least I can get the names of the right people.”

  “I will never be able to thank you enough, Traci.”

  “I’m glad to do it.”

  “I just don’t know what to say. Because I’m sure you must be very busy.”

  “I am, and sometimes that stops me from helping as many people as I would like. But you seem like a really nice person who has such a strong passion for writing. And I love that.”

  “I do. I love writing more than anything. And if I didn’t have a full-time job, I would write day and night.”

  “I remember when I felt the same way. Especially back in my twenties, but then when I kept getting rejected, I basically gave up. I mean, I still wrote, but I didn’t submit anything again for almost ten years.”

  “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to give it another try, because I love your stories. And I love your writing style.”

  “Thank you for saying that. Especially since I can think of a few writers who believe I never should’ve been published,” Traci said, laughing. “That really used to bother me, but not anymore. Now all I care about is what my readers think, and I ignore mean-spirited authors. Some actually believe it’s their job to criticize every author’s work—except their own, that is.”

  “That’s really too bad. It’s so unfortunate that folks just can’t be happy for their colleagues.”

  Traci nodded as though Simone were in the room with her. “Sadly, this happens in every industry. More so with women. But don’t get me wrong, not all writers are like that. Some are very kind, and they root for me as much as I root for them. But for the most part, I pretty much stay to myself. I had to start doing that versus listening to negative, unsupportive people who only want to bring others down.”

  “I don’t blame you, and you’re right about it happening in every industry, because the same thing goes on where I work. I’ve worked with insurance claims for years, but until I came to Mitchell I’d never experienced so much competitiveness. And cattiness. It’s fine, though, because I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Well, hey,” Simone said. “I really appreciate your calling me, but I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

  “I’m glad we got to talk this evening, and let’s connect again in a few days.”

  “Sounds good. I can also email you two or three chapters if you want to read them. You know, just to make sure my work is even good enough to be hiring an editor.”

  “Sure, that’s fine,” Traci said, but she sort of wished Simone hadn’t asked her to do that. Not because she didn’t want to read her work, but because writing was so subjective and what Traci might consider a page-turner, someone else might think was the worst book they’d read. Similarly, a novel that Traci didn’t care for at all might end up selling millions of copies. So she just didn’t feel as though it was her place to say, which was the reason she much preferred only giving advice on how to find an agent or how to get published. But she could tell Simone truly did want her to read her work, and after all, it was only three chapters.

  “Traci, thank you again. Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re quite welcome. Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  Chapter 3

  Simone still couldn’t believe it. She’d actually met Traci Calloway Cole, and better than that, she’d just gotten off the phone with her. And Traci had agreed to help her. And she was going to read the first three chapters of Simone’s book. And she’d given Simone her personal email address. It all seemed much too good to be true, but it wasn’t, and Simone hadn’t felt this excited in a long time. Of course, she would have to proofread her chapters at least three or four more times before sending them to Traci; however, she couldn’t wait to hear her feedback.

  Simone pulled up Traci’s web site and browsed through every page again—the same as she’d done at least ten other times since arriving home this evening. But when she clicked on her bio page again, she studied the fuchsia silk blouse Traci wore in her official author photo. It was interesting because earlier at the hair salon, Traci had been wearing a fuchsia sweater, which meant she obviously had a strong love for this particular color. Simone had never worn much fuchsia or hot pink, but it was actually more beautiful than she’d realized. So she opened another Google window and searched the words “women’s fuchsia blouses.” She started with Macy’s and continued on to the web sites of Nordstrom, Lord & Taylor, Dillard’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, White House Black Market, Ann Taylor, and Talbots. When she still couldn’t find the exact blouse that Traci wore in the photo, she settled on the closest one she’d found at Saks. At three hundred dollars, it was a bit on the pricey side, but she just couldn’t pass on buying it. She wanted it, and if she was going to look as though she were a published author, it was a sacrifice she needed to make. A sacrific
e she had to make. Not to mention, it was a very necessary investment in her career.

  Simone added the blouse to her shopping cart, and since she’d never purchased from Saks before, she created an online account. Then she changed the shipping selection from standard to Saturday delivery. This selection, of course, was costing her an additional thirty-five dollars. It would have been at least ten dollars less for regular overnight delivery, but with it being this late on Thursday, her package wouldn’t go out until tomorrow and then wouldn’t arrive until the next business day on Monday. But she didn’t want to wait until then.

  When the order had been confirmed, Simone clicked away from Saks and returned to Traci’s web site. She saw Traci’s live Twitter feed displaying on the home page and scrolled through it to see what Traci had recently tweeted or what comments of others she had retweeted. Then she clicked on Traci’s Twitter photos. As Simone browsed through them, something she’d already done about an hour ago, she wished she’d already been published and now had the loyal readers Traci had. Her events seemed well attended, and Simone could tell from every photo Traci took with readers that she genuinely loved them and was having the time of her life.

  If only Simone had taken her writing more seriously and had majored in English or creative writing, she would be so much further along than she was. She’d never have had to take a job at an insurance company, and she certainly wouldn’t still be working for one now. She’d be living the same kind of life she was sure Traci was living. She hadn’t seen Traci’s home, but Simone could just about imagine what it looked like. She was also pretty sure that the white Mercedes S550 she’d seen in the hair salon’s parking lot was Traci’s. It was true that Marie, the owner of the salon, was doing very well for herself and that the Mercedes might belong to her, but Simone was betting her money on Traci. She just had a feeling about it, and now she wished she had purchased a Mercedes herself instead of the black Nissan Maxima she owned. An S550 was certainly far more than she could afford, but just having a white Mercedes of any kind would work for her. She’d always sort of liked white vehicles, anyway, but after seeing the car she believed to be Traci’s, she knew it was an amazing color to have.

  When the doorbell rang, Simone forced her eyes away from her computer and got up. She walked down the hallway to the front door and reached for the knob.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, baby.”

  Simone opened the door for her fiancé, Chris, and smiled.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, hugging her and kissing her on the lips. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, and you?”

  “Great,” he said, kissing her again. “Especially now that I’m here with my girl.”

  “I was just sitting in my office,” she said, turning to head back in that direction.

  Chris followed behind her. Simone didn’t look back at him, but from the time they’d met, she’d loved how handsome he was. She’d immediately been attracted to his chiseled six-foot-two frame and flawless skin, and the chemistry between them had been near instant.

  They walked inside Simone’s home office, and when she sat back in front of her computer Chris took a seat next to her desk, facing her. But now he stared at her.

  She looked back at him. “What?”

  “I’m just wondering how much longer it’s going to be before you give me a key.”

  “Soon.”

  “You’ve been saying that since we got engaged, and that was three months ago.”

  “I know, but I just need you to be patient.”

  “I still don’t understand your hesitation, especially when we’re getting married next year. Plus, I’ve offered you the key to my place more than once.”

  “I realize that, but I can’t help how I feel. I know you don’t get it, but until we finish pre-marital counseling with your pastor I want us to keep things as is.”

  “But you see, that’s what’s so confusing,” he said. “You never go to church, but you wanted us to attend these sessions with Pastor Raymond.”

  “I did, and I’m glad we’re doing it. I’m not into the idea of religion, but I do believe in God. And the one time I went to church with you, I liked what your pastor had to say.”

  Chris rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, obviously still not understanding, and Simone wished she could let her guard down and confide in him more. But she couldn’t. Not when she’d been engaged once before, and things hadn’t worked out. She’d trusted her former fiancé completely, but he’d betrayed her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. She loved Chris, and deep down a part of her did trust him, but another part of her needed a bit more confirmation that he was the real deal and that he was fully committed to her. It wasn’t that he’d done anything wrong or anything to make her doubt him, but she still had to be careful. She couldn’t let what happened with her last fiancé happen in this relationship. She’d been so devastated, she pretended that she’d never been engaged at all or lived in Ohio. It was just better that way. Better to focus on the new life she’d been able to create for herself right here in Mitchell. Better to live a brand-new life with a different set of coworkers in a different city with different friends.

  Chris picked up a magazine from her desk, thumbing through it, but he didn’t say anything else.

  Simone reached over and rested her hand under his chin. “Baby, please don’t be mad. Try to understand.”

  “I am trying. And the only reason I’m going along with this is because I love you.”

  “I love you, too, and I promise you things won’t always be this way.”

  Chris glanced over at Simone’s computer screen. “Who’s that?”

  “You won’t believe this, but when I was at that new hair salon earlier I met Traci Calloway Cole. You know, the local author you’ve heard me talk about?”

  “Really? And that’s her web site?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you tell her you’d written a book, too?”

  “I did, but not until I got home and sent her a message. And she already called me.”

  “That’s great.”

  “She’s also going to answer any questions I have and read some of my chapters.”

  “That’s even better, and I hope she can help you get published,” he said, pulling her out of her chair, gazing into her eyes, and hugging her again.

  Simone wrapped her arms around his waist. “I do, too. I want that more than anything.”

  “And I’m sure it’ll happen,” he said, kissing her.

  Then he took her hand and led her toward her bedroom. Simone had been hoping they could talk more about her conversation with Traci, but it was obvious that Chris had other plans for them. She knew he wanted to make love to her, and in all honesty, the feeling was mutual.

  Chapter 4

  The last place Simone wanted to be right now was at work, but that’s exactly where she was. Still, as she sat in her office with the door closed, she certainly wasn’t reviewing any insurance claims. Instead, she’d just finished proofreading the first three chapters of her manuscript, and currently, she was signed on to Twitter, checking to see what Traci had posted this morning. She scrolled down to today’s first entry, which said, “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. ~ Psalm 118:24 (KJV) Happy Friday, and have a great weekend!”

  “What a really great idea,” Simone said out loud, and then she clicked to Google and searched the phrase “great scriptures to start your day.” She didn’t know a lot about the Bible, but it didn’t take long for her to find a verse she liked. When she did, she signed back on to Twitter, this time to her own page, and typed: “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

  But as soon as she hit Enter, she realized that she hadn’t included the squiggly symbol, which book of the Bible she was referencing, the verse number, or the source of scripture interpretation, the way Traci had. So she hurried to delete her tweet and retyped it, this
time including “~ Proverbs 3:5 (KJV).” She also told her followers to enjoy their weekend.

  Simone reread her tweet, making sure there weren’t any typos, and then returned to Traci’s page. She clicked on Traci’s Twitter photos, and when she saw a graphic of Traci’s next novel, she knew right then and there that she wanted her first jacket to look exactly like it, or at the very least, as close as possible. She was sure that whatever publisher she signed with would have an art department responsible for this sort of thing, but having a design like Traci’s would make all the difference. Traci’s readers already loved her books, and if they saw a similar design for her jacket, they would want to read Simone’s just because of it.

  Simone’s phone rang, and although she knew it was likely a customer calling, she ignored it. This was, of course, one of the benefits of having a closed-door office, and Simone was grateful for that. When it stopped ringing, Simone scrolled back to the top of Traci’s Twitter page and saw that she had five more followers than she’d had last night…already. Simone had purposely checked the number, which had been 10,307, and now it was 10,312. Simone was lucky if she gained five followers in a week or sometimes in a month, and she had to do something to change that. As it was, she only had seventy-three, and those were mostly coworkers she didn’t like and a few strangers who’d randomly followed her in hopes that she would follow them back—people whose main goal in life was to gain as many social media followers as possible. Before yesterday, Simone had never cared one way or the other, but after seeing that Traci had ten thousand plus, she knew it was time for her to up her game—it was high time she got on the ball and did all she could to get her name out there; not as Simone Phillips the auto insurance claims specialist but as Simone Phillips, aspiring writer and future bestselling author.

  Simone’s phone rang again, and she frowned. Then, when she looked over at the caller ID screen, she sighed. Freda Jamison was the customer from hell, the queen of Hades, and she was the last person Simone wanted to talk to. Freda’s insurance policy had been canceled, and rightfully so, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. So Simone let the phone ring until it stopped.