The Angel's Daughter

by Jody Sharpe

  “Tiffany. Please call me Sam, everyone does.” Sam is smiling. I used to think his smile intoxicating. My feet plant like cement shoes into the wood floor.

  “All right Sam,” she smiles and I notice perfectly capped teeth, his and hers. “Your beau-ti-ful novel about the love between a human and an angel will be a best seller I’m sure. I read it over the weekend and I was hooked!”

  She enunciates the word beautiful in a long drawn out way. Why am I criticizing her while my heart sinks? I realize this is exactly what I’ve feared. Did I have a premonition? Here he is on TV with a novel published about an angel in California. Oh, God!

  Sam speaks, “Tiffany, it’s a…a very special story. A young professor meets a beautiful young woman who turns out to be a real life angel and they fall desperately in love.” Sam’s large eyes gleam like his insincere smile and I see the years haven’t changed him. He looks as handsome as ever and quite debonair. There’s a smirk on his face. Is this a bad dream? Why was I so smitten with someone so very unlike Josh? My stomach hurts but my eyes remain glued to the screen. I can’t even look over at my father to see his reaction.

  The bombshell platinum-haired reporter looks at Sam and bats her fake eyelashes.

  “Sam, people have already started tweeting about this book and it’s so new! They’re comparing it to the impact “Love Story” by Erich Segal had in the seventies.” Sam smiles loving the limelight, enjoying the slinky reporter stroking his already bloated ego.

  “Thank you, Tiffany. I hope so. I’d love for it to be made into a film like the classic “Love Story.” I’ve even thought about who might play the parts of the angel and the professor.” He smiles a Cheshire grin.

  “Who would play the parts?” She’s intrigued.

  “Oh, I’ll have to keep that to myself for now but hopefully some major actors!”

  “Let me ask you this. Do you really believe in angels, Sam?” Again, her fake eyelashes bat. Just like me she’s acting like a teen in puppy love with a jerk twenty years her senior.

  He sits back in his chair, his hand on his chin. “Indeed it is an interesting question, Tiffany, I mean, the idea that angels do exist. I would like to think they really do.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that some live among us like it your book?”

  “Wouldn’t that be great, Tiffany?” He gives her a huge smile. She’s infatuated and I feel like I’m drowning in a pool of salt, an acrid taste rises in my mouth.

  “There is a rumor out there that just maybe you know something you’re not telling us, that maybe there is an angel living as a female human somewhere in California. Is this possible Sam? Is she real?”

  “Tiffany, it’s a story from my fanciful mind, but there was a young lady I knew once who was very angelic. There’s always truth somewhere in fiction.” Sam smiles that grin again and I feel faint.

  “Will you tell us about her?”

  “No not now Tiffany, she was my inspiration.”

  Tiffany gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Critics say that through this angel novel, you’re bringing hope for a new tomorrow to our chaotic world.”

  My heart drops but my humorous side tells me that sounds like a bad answer in a Miss America pageant. My humorous side leaves as quickly as it came in.

  Sam muses, “Like I said, wouldn’t it be nice if there really were angels living among us, Tiffany? But it’s just written from my imagination.” He’s smirking again as my knees weaken.

  Tiffany shows the book to the camera. There as the camera zooms in on the cover is a profile of a pastel drawing. The woman has long curly red hair, blue eyes and enormous wings that are satiny white. Wings don’t look like that! They’re made of tiny feathers and dusted with sparkling angel dust! My look-alike on the cover wears a plunging pink flowing gown. I never wear pink; it doesn’t match my red hair. Did I ever tell him that? What am I thinking? “Concentrate, Hannah, concentrate.”

  “We’ll be back to talk with Sam Blakley about his magical novel, “My California Angel.” Will you read some of it for us, Sam?” Tiffany bats her eyelashes and then the camera focuses in on the face of the turncoat, the man I used to think I loved.

  “Of course.” His lying face fills with pride… Then a caveman with a blonde girlfriend commercial blots him out.

  Meredith exclaims, “Really? What is that awful man thinking? Seriously, why would he have an artist draw a pretty good likeness of your profile? He must be still in love with you. Did he get that idea from your middle name? Oh you wrote all those stories about angels didn’t you?” She sees my scared expression and goes on, “I mean let’s look at his sign. When’s his birthday again? I remember his chart showed a deceitful nature. ”

  I’m silent. I can’t think. Her voice seems really loud to me.

  She puts her hand on my arm. “Hannah, when’s his birthday?”

  She doesn’t know the torment I’m in. How could she? I’ve never told her the truth. I told him though, Oh God!

  “I’m blanking,” I whisper. The white tears line my eyes. Meredith doesn’t say anything. I can’t look at her to see her expression so I look at Dad.

  The usual joy is drained from my father’s face. Why would Sam do this, why?

  Todd, the hunk of a Fed Ex man, comes in the door and we all turn to look at him. No happy greeting for him this time. In place of our usual cheerfulness I’m sure we all have deathly expressions on our faces.

  “Hi there, package for you.”

  We always joke around with Todd but not today. No one speaks.

  “Uh, please sign.” Todd looks at us with a what’s-the–matter with you guys expression on his face.

  I can’t talk signing for the package. Oh my God, I see the return address, RANDALL PUBLISHING New York, New York, the biggest publisher in the country!

  Dad says a quiet, “Thank you, Todd.” The Fed Ex man leaves thinking we’ve lost it.

  My fingers simultaneously shake and freeze and I can’t get the package open. Meredith takes it and opens it and holds the book up so Dad and I can see. There in living color, the similarity to me is astounding. The background is a shiny royal blue with gold trim. In gold it says, “My California Angel,” then underneath, a Novel by Samuel L. Blakley. At the bottom in smaller black print…..What If They Are Here? What If They Fell In Love With One Of Us?

  Yikes, I sit on the floor, my head in my hands. Meredith passes the book to me and I quickly hand the book over to Dad. Of course Sam sent me the book…how cruel. Why would he do this?

  Meredith actually laughs, albeit a nervous one, unaware of the danger this book could cause Dad. I finally look at her. She is looking intently at me now. With all those flaxen curls surrounding her face and her flowered maternity dress so spring-like that at another time I would have told her how pretty she looks with that pregnant glow everyone talks about. But no words come out of my frozen mouth.

  She tries to make me feel better. “It’s okay. It’ll be fun to read, maybe. Since she looks a lot like you, you must be the angel. That’s sweet. Maybe he’s sorry he was such a jackass!”

  I’m still in shock. When Sam and Tiffany come on again, Dad turns the TV off, pats me on the head and without a word sits in the big pink and green striped chair.

  “Come on, let’s all talk about it,” Meredith pleads. I know she’s frustrated with my unresponsiveness but I can’t help it.

  “Let me read it first.” Dad places his feet on the ottoman and opens the book.

  “That’ll take two days. Look, I have to go back to the store. It’ll be alright. Once you read it maybe you’ll be flattered and laugh out loud. Even though he’s a first class lowlife, it’s turned you into a cover girl!” She laughs her best fake laugh.

  Neither Dad nor I respond. Meredith puts her hands on her hips. “Maybe he did it to get even with you because you had that terrible fight when you broke up.”

  “Yeah, maybe…” Meredith hugs me as I sit there limp. She says goodbye and that she’ll be back as s
oon as she can. I remain on the floor almost comatose.

  “Goodbye, Meredith,” Dad waves. “Don’t worry. She’s just overwhelmed right now.”

  Meredith leaves reluctantly and I look at Dad reading the horrid book with the replica of me on the cover. The woman is not smiling at all. In fact she’s a sad angel. Why would he do this? It’s so spiteful! I realize I’ve bitten my lip, so I get up and get a tissue.

  Dad is about to speak when the door flies opens again and a customer comes in, a tourist, a frenzied yuppie mother with an attitude. Her hair is in a baseball cap with a ponytail hanging through it and her busier than busy little girl with pretty brown ringlets, carries a tiny toy white poodle with painted red toenails. Bubbles scrambles inside Dad’s shirt and peeks out so no one will see her. She hates little dogs and hyper children. Another day I would laugh out loud but today I can hardly greet the customer.

  “Good morning,” I say half heartedly. I’m watching Dad turning the pages of Sam’s book. He turns a page every ten seconds. He can read a 300 page book in thirty minutes. Aunt Helen thinks he took a speed reading class. I will absolutely refuse to read it, any of it ever.

  The woman is interested in a pink dog sweater on sale for her dog so I try to focus on her by forcing my usual cheeriness. She seems to take longer than most and the little girl, bored finally with touching all the animal gifts, spies sleeping Jesse in the window, climbs in and tries to grab her, almost suffocating the little dog under her arm. Her mother is oblivious. Before I say something to her myself, Jesse wakes up terrified and runs away from the little girl’s clutches. Good thing the kid doesn’t see Bubbles’ bulging lump in Dad’s shirt with her little eyes and nose sticking out near a button hole. Another tourist comes in and buys a dog collar. Finally, the mom takes the glittery pink sweater and pays.

  My father says to her, “Ma’am, excuse me for noticing, but your cute little girl there was holding your dog too tight. It seemed to hurt her. Try putting her on the leash. It will be all right.” He smiles, his angel words have an impact.

  The mom says, “Uh thanks.” She takes the dog and puts in on the leash and leaves. I shut the door and put the closed sign on it and lock it. Dad looks up over his glasses, his twinkling eyes looking worried now. With the little girl and poodle gone, Bubbles comes out and lights on his shoulder again. Jesse runs to her usual spot in the window glad the enemies are gone.

  Dad places his glasses on his head. “The book is a typical love story, with love scenes that are pretty racy in parts… guy meets girl, guy loses girl, then gets her back. However, he’s plagiarizing your style and your writings, Red. Your short story “The Boy and The Kite” is in here almost word for word. He seems to have included the other essays and short stories you wrote. Max, the main character is a professor of writing. He’s writing a love story about Honor, a young woman he met in his class, who we find out, is a real angel. He’s plagiarized “The Angel” and “Heaven Sent” and the one about how your Mom and I met too. Honor flies around saving people and animals. She tells Max she can’t marry him because she’s an angel and her angel father won’t let her go. She’s committed to stay in California to help the downtrodden. Max leaves broken hearted for New York. The end is a typical happily ever after but with your writing talent. It’s good.”

  “What let me see?” I take the book and opening it at random to page ten I read out loud:

  “Honor stepped off the ledge. Her wings had sprouted glorious and satiny white. She was flying effortlessly without even trying to move her wings. She followed her winged father, gliding along upward. Tonight the stars were brighter than ever before it seemed. The velvet night swirled around them and she felt free to fly like a magical owl up, up almost touching the silver clouds, the glowing moon so milky white. “Don’t be afraid,” said her father. We are angel’s dear one.” Honor looked down at the street below. A lone cat looked up with interest. She laughed as they flew away in the starry night.”

  Not prepared for this shock, this waking nightmare, I see the writing is taken almost verbatim from “The Angel.” Maybe no one will connect me to this. It’s a novel. Maybe I’m kidding myself.

  I whisper, “What can we do, can you make it all go away somehow?”

  “I wish I could, Dear Heart, but I can’t. Before I lived as a human, I still couldn’t have stopped Sam from doing this. It’s his free will. I’m sorry. He’s pretty darn cunning and obviously wants to hurt you. As a writing professor, didn’t he write well himself?”

  “Yes, he won a Golden Pen Award for a short story and wrote a text book too. So why would he do this? He’s trying to expose us!”

  Dad tries to soothe my frantic emotions. “Let’s just take it easy here. The only thing he said in the interview this morning was, “Wouldn’t it be nice if angels were really out there and that he based it on a woman?” No one will figure it out. There’s no proof I’m an angel. I promise. Believe me, I know.”

  My voice almost shrieks, “All those angel stories I wrote in class… yours and Mom’s story, our story…all camouflaged as fiction and that night he left I told him, like an impulsive child, I told your secret!”

  Dad gets a very sad expression. “Well, we’ll have to put on a very surprised front should anyone inquire. It’s the plagiarizing that’s got me confused though. Why would he copy your work and then send you the book? My guess is he hasn’t had a creative thought since his award you told me about. That is indicative of a negative spirit and that’s so very sad.”

  He comes over and gives me a hug. For a moment, Bubbles gets on my shoulder and does a little nuzzling on my ear. Dad has turned her almost into a dog.

  “I shouldn’t have told him. I thought we were going to be together forever, thinking he was a loving man like you. I was infatuated, in love with him. Why did I write all those stories about you?”

  “Darlin’, it’s my fault, expecting you to keep the secret all those years. It’s no wonder you wanted to tell him, the man you loved. It’s okay, really now. He doesn’t believe it, I know it in my angel soul and he doesn’t have any proof. He just wants money and fame. We can surely handle it. Let’s just ride it out all right?” He gives me the biggest bear hug ever.

  Crying harder now, my white tears stain his green print shirt. Josh? A sudden thought of Josh makes me feel like a spring flower wilting in an unexpected snowstorm.

  We hold each other for a moment and then the phone rings. The call is from Olsen’s Book Store. Composing myself, I answer it.

  “Hey Hannah,” Shirl Olsen, the owner says. “We got this new book in, “My California Angel” and there’s an angel on the cover that looks kinda like you.” I don’t reply so she continues….

  “Girl, you’ve got to come see this. The author is a Samuel L. Blakley. Honey, do you know him? Your face will be famous now!”

  My world is collapsing, my father is outed!

  To: Hannah’s email@…..

  From: Sblakley’s email@…..

  I meant everything I said last night. My love for you is raging!

  Sam

  Excerpt from:

  Hannah’s short story, Angel Meets Mortal but plagiarized in Sam Blakley’s My California Angel, the story of Gabe and Kate’s meeting on Main Street long ago………………………

  It’s Christmas Eve when the bustle of the festive day sets everyone in the mood for their happy final Christmas preparations. Michael, an angel, his arms folded, is leaning against the brick Pancake Heaven restaurant in the quaint little town of Moon Bay. He knows he has thirty seconds before the girl comes around the corner.

  His red hair ruffles slightly in the morning breeze and if anyone notices his sparkling blue eyes as they pass by, he’s unaware. But today nobody seems to notice him.

  Around the corner she comes. Brown hair, brown eyes and pretty as a picture. Michael’s arms fall to his side. He’s mesmerized by her eyes, her lavender dress, and her long flowing hair. This never happens. He saves a person then is ordin
arily gone in a whip of light.

  He knows he must move quickly now as she walks into the busy street. She is looking down at her straw purse. At the sight of her beauty he has almost forgotten what he’s supposed to do, save her from that red car as it runs the light.

  He grabs her and in an instant has pulled her back from a fatal fall. He holds her to him for a few moments and yet seemingly can’t quite let go.

  Kathy looks up at the man who’s just saved her life. He’s alarmingly handsome. His red hair and blue eyes look at her with such intensity that she has to turn away for a moment. She realizes she’s hanging on for dear life, her hands clutching his white sweater. She let’s go.

  She looks up at the man with the sky blue eyes. “You saved my life! Thank you.” But, neither one of them leave. It’s a secret love story. An angel was sent to save a beautiful woman and they fell hopelessly in love.

  Right there and then, Michael decides to stay. He says in an Irish brogue, “You’re welcome!” His eyes can’t turn away….they never will.

  Max writes it down, the story Honor told him of her parents meeting. It’s his story too, isn’t it, but the reverse? He’s fallen in love with Honor, an angel, and there’s nothing that will ever change that. Just like Honor’s father loved her mother, Max knows his love is going to last beyond forever.

  The back porch stoop is my favorite spot to mull things over. Dogs and deer lie next to me while waiting for Josh to pull up. The rest of the day has been a blur. I answered Shirl from the bookstore with a joke. “Seriously? Yeah, I knew him at school. I’ll come over to look at it. Can’t be me though, I’m no angel! ”

  Aunt Helen comes out and sits on the lounge chair next to me. She takes my hand.

  “Sam was never good enough for you, Hannah, we knew and he knew it too. He took advantage of you and I think you knew it deep down even back then. He’s plagiarizing your stories now. Lordy, it’s just awful. Why all your beautiful angel stories made into a book. The audacity of that man, putting your face on that cover oh my.”