Letters to a Love Rat

by Niamh Greene

  ‘What’s Carla’s new book about?’ Samantha asks Lee, holding Carla’s new bonkbuster, Second Chance at Love, aloft.

  ‘Oh, you know, the usual – lots of drama and steamy sex. The same old formula.’

  Lee winces as she hauls more books from boxes. There are masses of Carla’s fans waiting outside to meet her and get their hands on a signed copy, and we have to make sure there are enough novels here for all of them.

  I turn the book over and read the blurb:

  Riley Hunt and Morgan Marshall were lovers until fate tore them apart and separated them for ever. Broken-hearted, Riley vows never to love again. But then dangerous Michael Cox comes into her life. Can Riley finally find happiness and forget Morgan?

  ‘Do you like Carla?’ I ask, examining the cover and wondering why all women’s novels look exactly the same. There was definitely something in Lee’s tone that makes me wonder if she’s a Carla fan.

  ‘Sure, of course I do,’ she says carefully. ‘I mean, she’s a best-seller; Embassy Publishing makes a fortune from her sales. But, strictly off the record of course, sometimes I think her storylines are a little far-fetched. I mean, all the happy-ever-after stuff – who believes in that any more? I just don’t get why women fall for all that romantic schmaltz. It’s so unrealistic.’

  Lee sounds exactly like Penny in the Her office.

  ‘Well, her fans love her,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘Yeah, her readers love her, that’s for sure. I guess maybe deep down we’re all suckers for romance. Women certainly lap up her stories. If we could get her to agree to a ghost-writer we’d really be in the money. They gobble up the books faster than she can write them.’

  ‘I don’t know much about her,’ Samantha says, piling some books on the floor beside the signing desk. ‘She’s very mysterious, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s all part of her persona. She likes to retain an air of mystery about herself.’ Lee rolls her eyes. ‘High maintenance is her middle name. She doesn’t usually do interviews – you guys are lucky she agreed to this. Ever since that ex-PA of hers dished the dirt to the tabloids a few years ago, she’s been paranoid about the press.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, patting myself silently on the back, ‘Charlie says she almost never does media.’

  The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. What made me say that? What made me bring up my missing husband? I want to kick myself. I hope Lee doesn’t ask about him.

  ‘Who’s Charlie?’ Lee says, right on cue.

  ‘Charlie is Molly’s gorgeous husband.’ Samantha nudges me playfully. ‘Molly’s a newlywed, which just goes to prove that romance is alive and kicking, right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I say, willing the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

  ‘And does your husband know Carla?’ Lee asks.

  ‘Um, I think he met her once. He works in the industry,’ I mumble, hoping I can change the subject fast. I don’t want anyone quizzing me about Charlie right now.

  ‘Hang on… you don’t mean Charlie Adler, do you?’ Lee asks. ‘I heard he got married recently.’

  ‘That’s him,’ I say, trying my best to smile brightly.

  ‘Wow… well, congratulations.’

  I think I see a strange expression flicker briefly across Lee’s face, but I’m not sure why.

  What if she’s heard that Charlie has left me? What if she knows all about it? They’re both publicists for the book trade, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. What if the entire industry knows about us? I would die. I can feel my cheeks starting to burn.

  ‘So what did Charlie think of her?’ Samantha asks. ‘Carla Ryan?’

  Lee and Samantha both look expectantly at me.

  ‘I can’t really remember,’ I say vaguely, thinking I’ll crown Samantha with Carla’s new book if she mentions Charlie’s name again. I’m sure my embarrassment is written all over my face. ‘I think he said she was very guarded – didn’t give away too much about herself.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds about right,’ Lee says. ‘Still, it’s all part of the mystique, I suppose. And with her looks, keeping her face out of the press suits us perfectly. Not that she knows that, of course.’

  Samantha nearly falls over a stack of books to hear what Lee says next.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.

  ‘Well’ – Lee looks over her shoulder and whispers, even though there’s only the three of us here – ‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but haven’t you ever noticed that there’s never a photo of her on the jacket covers of her books?’

  ‘You’re right!’ Samantha says, flipping the book round in her hands and searching it for an author photo.

  ‘There’s a simple reason for that.’ Lee leans in. ‘She’s not exactly a stunner.’

  ‘Really?’ Samantha says. ‘I never thought about that before. I always presumed she was a glamorous sex kitten, just like the heroines in her books.’

  ‘Far from it. She may write about exquisitely beautiful women, but she’s actually very plain. That’s why we’re happy to play along with her obsession about privacy. As far as she knows we’re respecting her boundaries, but the truth is that this strategy works for us. Over-exposure of her face could spoil the public’s demand for her novels. It could really damage sales.’

  I always knew that young, good-looking authors were promoted more by publishers, but now that Lee has admitted it I realize how depressing it all is. Carla may be the queen of chick lit but she’ll never be a cover girl. It’s really very unfair.

  ‘Poor Carla,’ Samantha says, her face troubled.

  ‘Yeah. The public wants to think she’s a sexpot who writes in a negligee,’ Lee goes on. ‘Really she’s a middle-aged woman with a lip that needs some serious waxing.’

  ‘And if her fans knew that, they wouldn’t buy into the whole sexy image?’ Samantha asks.

  ‘That’s right,’ Lee admits. ‘This industry is just smoke and mirrors. So far, the fact that she’s wanted to keep her private life private has worked well for us. But now she’s decided she wants more publicity.’

  ‘Is that why she’s agreed to do this feature with Her?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes. It’s also why she wants to do this readers’ event today. Her arch-rival Noreen Brady beat her on sales last year. Carla has realized it’s because Noreen gets far more press coverage, and she’s gunning for her. Off the record of course.’ Lee sighs.

  I think about Noreen Brady. She’s another female author writing in the same genre, except Noreen is a platinum blonde with ample assets that she likes to show off – which doesn’t do her profile any harm, that’s for sure. No wonder Carla has decided to up the ante on the publicity stakes. A brewing catfight between two of the top chick-lit writers in the country sounds intriguing – that would be a major scoop. Maybe I could persuade Lee to tell me more. Minty would love this sort of angle for the magazine article.

  ‘Are you sure you can carry those boxes, Molly?’ Lee asks.

  ‘No problem.’ I heave another box across the room and start emptying the books onto the table.

  ‘That’s great. I’m sorry there’s so many, but there are already hundreds of fans here.’ She sighs heavily again.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask, hauling some books over to the desk, where I start to arrange them artistically in stacks on the floor.

  ‘Sure. It’s just that these readers’ events can get a bit tiresome after a while. Still, at least we know loads of people will turn up. I’ve been to ones where no one comes at all.’

  ‘Really?’ I’m horrified. ‘How awful.’

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s the pits. It can really crush a writer’s confidence.’

  I try to imagine what it would feel like to have no one turn up to hear you read from your new book. It must be soul-destroying. Sitting at a desk, twiddling your thumbs and watching people pass by would be so humiliating.

  ‘So, what time is Carla going to arrive?’ I say.

  ‘Any minute,
so we’d better get cracking.’ Lee smiles at me and I vow to do a really great job for her. I whiz around making sure there’s a variety of pens for Carla to use, and filling the jug on the table with iced water in case she flags a bit. I’m wondering if I should get a few snacks to perk her up in case she’s hungry when she gets here – an energy bar maybe, or some nuts. But before I can decide what to do, Samantha squeals.

  ‘She’s coming!’

  Seconds later a tiny woman with a large pashmina wrapped tightly round her sweeps into the room. Lee was right. She’s no oil painting. She has fleshy bags under her eyes and a definite hint of a moustache across her lip. There’s even more hair sprouting from a large mole on her left cheek. She’s also wearing a strange-looking head turban made of multicoloured polyester material with a large brooch pinned to the front. It’s the strangest thing… although it could come in handy if you were having a bad hair day. Maybe I should ask her where I could get one.

  ‘Carla, darling,’ Lee coos, air-kissing her, ‘you look gorgeous.’

  Lee is lying through her teeth. There is no way on earth that this woman could be described as gorgeous. I’m not sure she could be described as remotely attractive, even in the best light. She is plain, with a capital P.

  ‘Hi, Lee,’ Carla says, patting her very weird turban. ‘God, now I remember how much I hate this shit. Why did I ever agree to do it?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lee says soothingly. ‘It’ll only take a little while, I promise.’

  I gulp. This is a huge lie. The queue of women (and at least one man) waiting to listen to Carla read and then have their books autographed is now snaking from the shop door down the street. She’s going to be here for hours.

  ‘And you know how much readers love their signed copies.’ Lee is still talking. ‘It’s great for sales.’

  Carla curls her lip. ‘Readers! Always wanting more, more, more. They never leave me alone – writing to me, emailing me, wanting to meet me.’ She’s ranting. ‘I should have stayed at home!’

  ‘Carla, this is Molly.’

  Lee takes me by the arm and shoves me in front of Carla, obviously as a distraction. ‘She’s from Her magazine. She’s been helping me set up here. I think you’ll be thrilled with how it all looks.’

  ‘Hi there.’ I grin nervously. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’

  ‘Her, did you say?’ Carla eyes me from head to toe and then offers me her hand to shake.

  ‘That’s right – Her magazine,’ I confirm. ‘We’re absolutely thrilled you’ve agreed to let us be here today.’

  I’m gushing, I know I’m gushing. But I think the situation calls for a little brown-nosing: Lee did say she was high maintenance.

  ‘Hmm…’ Carla narrows her eyes. ‘So long as you don’t misrepresent what I’m about. I know you media types. You’ll dig anywhere for a story, preferably an untrue one.’

  I can see Lee out of the corner of my eye. She’s wringing her hands anxiously.

  This isn’t good. If Carla thinks we’re not going to give her a glowing write-up she might pull out of the feature altogether, and that would be a disaster.

  ‘Have you read my books?’ she asks now, her eyes boring into mine.

  ‘Of course!’ I lie. ‘I’m a huge fan.’

  ‘Really?’ Carla arches an eyebrow at me. ‘How nice. Which was your favourite?’

  ‘My favourite?’ I bluff.

  I suddenly wish Samantha would say something. Why has she chosen this particular moment to be dumbstruck? She’s standing beside me, staring silently at Carla’s turban, her mouth slightly open.

  ‘Yes. Your favourite book. Of mine.’

  Carla’s smiling tightly at me, her turban thing swaying gently from side to side as she does.

  Oh dear God. What am I going to say? I have no idea what any of her books are called, except for the latest one.

  ‘Let me think…’ I’m playing for time, pretending that I’m considering her entire back catalogue of work before I pick the winner. ‘There are so many great ones to choose from.’

  I look at Lee, willing her to understand that I’m bluffing and that she needs to step in and save the day. But Lee just smiles encouragingly. Now I’m going to look like a complete idiot in front of her as well. She’ll never let me tag along with her again if I insult one of her top authors.

  ‘I would have to say’ – I look at the posters of Carla’s new novel pinned all over the walls and decide that it’s my only option – ‘Second Chance at Love. It’s just great.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve read it already?’ Carla frowns. ‘That was quick. Which character did you like best?’

  I’m starting to sweat. At least Lee has dragged Samantha away to tell the store manager that we’re ready to start, so she’s not going to witness me make a complete fool of myself.

  ‘Um, the male character was fascinating,’ I say. ‘Would you like a drink of water? Maybe a fruit bar?’

  But there’s no distracting her.

  ‘Do you mean Michael?’ Carla frowns at me.

  ‘Yes, Michael.’ I’m so thrilled to have a name to play with that I pounce on it with glee. ‘He was fabulous.’

  ‘A violent alcoholic was fabulous?’ Carla’s eyes narrow.

  ‘Well, yes.’ How the hell did I get myself into this? ‘But he had redeemable qualities, don’t you think?’

  She’s quiet for a moment, obviously processing this information. Then she leans towards me. This is it. She’s going to tell me to get out, that the feature is off, that she never wants to see me again, that she’s calling Minty to tell her to fire me. I hold my breath.

  ‘You know what? You’re the first person I’ve spoken to who really gets Michael. I mean, yes, he’s violent, but only because his own father was violent towards him. You’ve seen the inner Michael, the Michael I’m hoping my readers will be able to empathize with.’ She smiles at me again and I exhale.

  ‘Well… that’s great!’ I do a little thumbs-up sign to let her know how delighted I am.

  ‘What about Morgan?’

  ‘Morgan?’

  ‘Yes, Morgan. What did you think of him?’

  ‘Morgan was amazing. He was so’ – I search for what I think would be a good word to describe a Carla Ryan hero – ‘manly.’

  Carla smiles. ‘That’s the perfect word for him. Manly. Did you really believe that he and Riley were meant to be together?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ I say, getting into the spirit of things. ‘It’s obvious that they’re soulmates!’

  ‘You’re right. They’re destined to be together, no matter what.’ She nods approvingly at me. ‘Have you met your soulmate?’

  The room is suddenly still.

  ‘Yes, yes, I have,’ I say quietly, and I know I mean it.

  ‘Yes, I thought so. I can tell these things about people.’

  She smiles at me again and I start to think that maybe she’s not that plain after all. There’s something about her face that is suddenly quite beautiful, if you ignore the moustache.

  ‘Would you like something to nibble on before you start?’ I say, trying to change the subject. ‘I can pop to the shop and get you something.’

  I’m hoping she’ll say yes and I can escape, because now I desperately want to. Talking about soulmates has made me feel very uncomfortable.

  ‘That’s very sweet.’ She smiles again and the hair on her upper lip winks at me. ‘But I’m not that hungry. I had a treat in bed earlier and I have to say… it was very satisfying. Do you know what I mean?’

  She raises one eyebrow at me and I realize she’s not saying that she had a ciabatta roll and a fruit smoothie under the covers.

  I smile nervously back. I hope she’s not going to start confiding details of her sex life. That would be deeply embarrassing.

  But before I get a chance to reply, I hear a sort of chanting noise.

  ‘What’s that?’ I say, mostly to myself.

  ‘The fans,’ Lee says. She’s back again, Samantha
by her side.

  Carla raises her eyes to heaven. ‘They like to sing songs that I’ve mentioned in the book. It’s just another reason why I don’t usually do this stuff.’

  It’s true: there is the unmistakable sound of dozens of women singing ‘Love on the Rocks’ by Neil Diamond.

  ‘God, those women should get a life,’ Carla sighs.

  Then she adjusts the turban thing, stalks to the signing table, picks up a pen, pastes a fixed smile on to her face and nods at Lee to open the door.

  Four hours later I’m on the way home, exhausted. I’ve been jostled, bribed and propositioned by so many women desperate to meet their idol that I’m completely wiped out. I even had to break up a scuffle when one woman accused another of trying to skip the queue. And there was almost full-scale war when one fan managed to have two photos taken with Carla.

  Carla had kept her steely smile intact for the camera, but her eyes had glittered dangerously as the flash popped.

  ‘Only one photo per fan,’ Lee hissed at me. ‘She’ll freak if that happens again. Will you tell everyone else?’

  I looked at the fans, all swaying in time to ‘Love on the Rocks’, which they were still singing. They looked like a well-behaved bunch: I was sure they’d understand that Carla had only so much time to speak to each of them.

  I clapped my hands to get their attention and, when that didn’t work, I jumped up and down and waved my arms in the air. Unfortunately, one fan thought I was merely getting into the spirit of things.

  ‘A Mexican wave, let’s do a Mexican wave!’ she yelled, and before I knew what was happening, a hundred chick-lit fans were waving their arms up and down and stamping their feet.

  ‘No, no!!’ I yelled. ‘I have to tell you: only one photo per person.’

  But no one heard me: they were all too busy dancing wildly and chanting Carla’s name. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I wolf-whistled. I’ve always been a good wolf-whistler; it’s one of my party pieces. Al reckons I could pierce an eardrum if I really wanted to.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, once I’d got their attention. ‘Carla can’t wait to meet each and every one of you’ – that was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that – ‘however, you can only have one photo taken with her, OK? Please don’t ask for more as refusal might offend.’