by Jennifer Joy
"I haven't asked her yet."
"Details, details. She'll say, 'Yes'."
Will could only hope so. Charlie's confidence boosted Will's morale, and he was grateful for it. Clapping his friend on the back, he tried to reassure him in turn. "Charlie, I need you to trust me. I have everything under control. Please don't do anything until we can talk further, but right now, I must get back to Liz."
Charlie nodded, his shoulders still slumped. "Que será, será, I suppose. Tell Liz I love her even though she's a sore on my backside."
Will smiled. "I'm sure the feeling's mutual."
Will's guilt weighed heavier the closer he got to Liz. Her firm chin and stiff shoulders told him she'd won the struggle over her emotions, but the unshed tears in her glistening eyes said it was only temporary. It was a dagger to the stomach. How could he have neglected her? He could have prevented things from blowing so far out of proportion.
The glances of admiration he'd received from the other diners now burned on his back like a judgment.
"I'm sorry, Liz." He meant it from the most profound depths of his being.
She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with his handkerchief and took another bite of her chocolate mousse. Raising her spoon, she teased, "You left me in good company."
His chest tightened, and his arms ached to hold her. Only Liz would turn a horrible situation into a joke and minimize his fault when he bore most — if not all — of the blame.
"Not just for that, Liz. I'm sorry I allowed Burgess to get to you."
"Why should you apologize? It was my post. Contrary to what he thinks, it had nothing to do with you."
"You should be proud of your work. You shouldn't hide it because of me. I know how you despise censorship, and I won't ask you to change anything you've written. Not now."
Liz pointed her spoon at Will, a protest on the tip of her tongue.
He continued before she could utter a word, "Not ever. Not when I could have prevented this mess to begin with."
"What? How?"
"I'm ashamed to say." Where should he begin? He hadn't missed a blog post of hers until this past week. He'd been so busy with his own deadline, he'd neglected the one person he would promise to put above all else. Even his career.
She shook her head vehemently. "I can't imagine you ever doing anything shameful, Will. It's simply not in your nature."
Will wasn't so sure of that. He'd been so focused on work, excusing his negligence by focusing on giving Liz the perfect proposal, he’d forgotten to be the man she needed. She deserved his constant and unwavering support.
He was determined not to make the same mistake twice. "Tell me about your post. You were excited about it when you got here. I want to know why before Burgess taints it with his venom."
The proposal would have to wait. His fears mounted the longer he kept the question inside, but she deserved his support ... and his complete honesty before he dared ask her to share his life.
She may not want him after what he had to tell her.
Chapter Seven
If Will's years of writing emotion-ridden stories taught him anything, it was that the way the truth was exposed was equally, if not more, important than the words used to tell it.
"Liz, I'd like to read your article and the comments. It's important to understand what we're dealing with and how best to proceed." He told himself he needed all the facts to know how best to tell her what he should have already. The truth was, he was terrified and stalling in the hopes that his courage wouldn’t fail him. Proposing would have been easier.
"I've been dying for you to read it! I knew your Internet was disconnected, and you wouldn't see it."
How easily she dismissed his negligence. She was too good for him. Would he ever deserve her esteem? Was such a thing possible when his faults grew greater as the night progressed? His shoulders squared, ready for the challenge. His greatest enemy was none other than himself, but he would not give up. He would give Liz his best. It was all he had. He just hoped it was enough.
She opened the tiny purse Will had assumed was nothing more than an accessory. His amazement grew, as did his admiration that such a minuscule bag contained so much, as she pulled out her lipstick and mirror with the powder she used on her nose to dab at her already perfect skin, her parking ticket, and her cell phone.
She handed him the phone, opened up to the article that caused so much controversy.
The title alone gave him a hint of what was to come. P. Dasher: Dashing Adventure Writer or Genre Sell-out? It did nothing to settle his nerves.
Will sensed the struggle with which Liz tried to provide an even argument toward both sides, but she was too black and white for that. It was clear with each progressive paragraph of her review that she was not, nor would ever be, a fan of Dasher's work.
Dasher’s work left her wanting. His stories contained no meaning, only mindless adventure. The characters had no depth, and while Liz found much to like about the heroine and applauded the author for creating a strong female character to take the lead role, the heroine lacked dimension and credibility. Where had she learned her skills? Is there truly such a capable woman on the earth? She's a fun and fierce thing to behold, but she — like the situations she finds herself in — is in no way believable.
The glimpses of shimmery prose left Liz frustrated at the potential the author seemed to hold back ... or doesn't possess at all.
Will was left numb when he read Liz's final paragraph:
In summary, it is my opinion (take it for what it's worth) that P. Dasher is both a dashing adventure writer and a genre sell-out. I would rather him be one or the other, then I could clearly love and praise his work or at least respect him and his stories for not pretending to be anything other than what they are — cheap thrills to be enjoyed one day and forgotten the next. As it is, I'm caught in the middle and left utterly and completely frustrated.
Reviews like that were the worst. Better a reader react strongly in favor or against a story than to be left unsatisfied. Either way, an author could take pride that his story touched an individual and inspired a reaction.
He felt Liz's eyes on him, but he forced himself to continue to the comments.
"Three hundred comments?" he exclaimed aloud.
He heard the pride in her voice. "It's my most popular post. It really struck a nerve. Only today, a bigger, more successful book blogger asked me if she had my permission to post it on her blog along with an interview of me."
Will's heart sank. This was much bigger than he had thought possible, and there was no way he would ask her to take it down. Though it pained Will, it was a well-written post that clearly expressed her views on a body of work. She was fair in stating that it’s a genre she does not normally read, and if anything, readers who did enjoy action adventures would be enticed to read Dasher’s books based on Liz’s review. Only, she had not enjoyed them.
The comments started out supportive, agreeing with Liz's opinion and adding their own two cents. About fifty comments in, though, his name was dragged into the discussion and the accusations began. Liz replied, attempting to lighten the mood with humor and get the conversation back to the point of her review.
One reader commented that Dasher's style was so similar to Donovan's, one was left to assume that Dasher sought to imitate the superior writer's style and failed miserably. Ouch.
Another called Dasher a phony pretender which provoked a long string of replies either supporting the statement or pointing out how it's possible for two distinct authors to write with similar styles. Will nodded in agreement.
Then, another reader dropped the bomb. Is it merely a coincidence that Dasher published his first book right when Donovan's debut novel was opted for a movie? He was the worst sort of opportunist riding on the coattails of another's success.
Will couldn't read much more after that. Suggestions of plagiarism, though he couldn't imagine how that was possible when they didn't even write in the same genre or abou
t the same themes, riddled the replies. It humbled Will to see how many people, people he’d never met and who only knew him through his books, rose in his defense. He didn’t want to disappoint them, but he didn’t see any reason to drag another writer’s name through the mud either. It troubled him greatly to see the conspiracy theories suggesting that Dasher wouldn't be where he is were it not for Donovan. It was nonsense.
Considering that Dasher sold considerably more books than Donovan did, Will wasn't too grand or attached to the art not to acknowledge who enjoyed the more generally accepted view of success. It wasn’t him.
He handed Liz's phone back to her. "Did you really hate Dasher's books so much?"
"Hate is a bit strong, but I meant every word I wrote ... although to be fair, I don't normally read genre fiction as you are well-aware and I clearly stated. I prefer books that touch my soul and change me. That alter how I see the world. That make me fall in love with the ebb and flow of a beautifully written scene."
Will loved that too. Nothing was more powerful for effecting change than a well-turned phrase. They moved a warrior to weep and a child to attempt the impossible. Stories had the power to change the world. Will believed that as strongly as Liz did.
"What about the comments suggesting that Dasher is trying to ride off my recent success by imitating my narrative style and snappy dialog?"
Liz frowned. "I never intended for the comments to go so far, but the amount of discussion it's generating is incredible. It’s heart-warming to see proof of how loyal your supporters are and how defensive of you they are."
Even at the cost of his career. That was the downside to his recently acquired fame. Had he been an unknown artist, it wouldn’t matter. Would that he could be anonymous… Will ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. His hand had been forced and there was only one way out now. Had he not been such a coward, they wouldn’t be having this conversation now. He’d be proposing.
"I wish they wouldn't have called Dasher's integrity into question. The man is not the summation of his books. There was no need to bring him into the discussion at all," he said.
"I agree that it's unfortunate. I wouldn't put it past Burgess to plant a few anonymous comments just to stir the pot ... or maybe he was the one to instigate it to begin with. I don't know." She crossed her arms and chewed on her bottom lip, planning her next move. If Burgess had ever shown an ounce of decency toward Liz, Will would have pitied the man. As it was, his revenge spread to include the person closest to Will, and Will would sacrifice what he must to prevent any further attacks. Even though it meant the end of something he’d worked so hard to protect.
Liz scooped the last of the frothy chocolate out of her cup and savored it with eyes closed. When she opened them again, it was as if the bittersweet confection had nourished her courage (as chocolate often did in Liz’s case). With her eyes focused and her chin set, she said, "I made this mess, but I'll find a way to turn it around. I swear it. I just feel horrible that we came here to celebrate your movie’s nominations only to have the mood shot down and turned around. I’m sorry, Will."
She still didn't understand his reason for inviting her to the Starlight Terrace. And she had no idea how great his blame was, how inappropriate it was for her to apologize to him when he bore the guilt she felt. It was unfair. It was unacceptable.
Oh, but it was difficult to reveal the secret he’d kept for so long. He cleared his throat. There was one more thing he must know before he laid his fault bare. "Let me ask you one thing. Were you entertained?" he asked.
"What?"
"Dasher's books. Were they entertaining?" Will held his breath and watched her with an intensity that betrayed him … if only she looked at him.
She grimaced and squirmed in her chair. "Yes," she mumbled, quickly adding with more force, "I could kick myself with the time I lost reading them when I have a stack of my favorite authors piled on my bedside table."
Will's ears rang, and he was forced to breathe. "You read all of them? He has eight books."
Liz's discomfort was evident in the stubborn furl of her brow and her pinched lips. She muttered, "I needed to know what would happen. Of course, after I read the next one, the series is complete and I won't have to bother."
Will's jaw dropped. "The next one? But it isn't even out yet." Had she pre-ordered it as Gary had?
She tried to act nonchalantly, but as she shrugged her shoulders and avoided Will's eyes, he realized that despite all her protests to the contrary, she was hooked.
"I pre-ordered it," she said in a squeaky whisper, like it was something shameful to admit. "I'll be happy to be done with them so I can move on to more ... edifying literature. The kind my readers expect from me. That is, if this last post doesn't blow up in my face and I lose more readers than I gain by spouting my opinions too freely. But, then again, it's my blog and my thoughts. I should have expected this to happen, eventually."
Will respected her need to change the topic. His need for privacy and a challenge was outweighed by the distress and seesaw of emotions from which Liz suffered.
"I'm so sorry, Liz. This is all my fault," he began. Would she understand?
"You keep apologizing, and I wish you'd stop. This is my post and I'll face the consequences. I'll find a way to fix this."
"I believe you capable of anything you set your mind to. You’re the most capable woman I’ve ever met. But without all the information, you're fighting an uphill battle." Will took a deep breath so he wouldn't be forced to stop once he started. "Liz, there's something I should have told you a long time ago. When we first met."
Chapter Eight
Her eyes doubled in size. “You’re married?”
“No!” he denied emphatically.
“Good! I didn’t want to believe you capable of such treachery, but you keep apologizing and you’re so serious right now, I was scared to hear what you wanted to tell me. I’m relieved to know you’re available because it would be rather awkward and highly inappropriate to explain to the wife you definitely don’t have how you’ve become my best friend…”
As she chattered thoughtlessly, Will saw the wheels of her mind turning, working on the puzzle. Left on her own, knowing what she did, he had every confidence she would figure out how to turn the present situation in their favor (much like he had been attempting to do all evening to no avail).
"Liz," he began.
"Just a moment, Will. I'm on the verge of a brilliant idea. Would you consider doing a live interview with me? I've been thinking of expanding my blog to include a podcast. After all, people pay to hear my voice. Why not use what I have to reassure your fans and remind them why they love you before Burgess puts anything to print?"
He thought it was, indeed, a brilliant idea. "Charlie will have a fit."
"Does that mean you'll do it?" Her whole semblance brightened. She was so beautiful, it made Will's chest ache and butterflies filled his stomach.
“Of course, Charlie would be invited too,” she continued. “He'd never agree to let you on otherwise. Do you think tomorrow is too soon? All the equipment is already in my studio. I'd just need to set up the extra mics and pull up a couple chairs." She spread her hands before her, her vision off in the distance of her imagination. “I can see it already! You'll be my debut episode. We'll lay to rest any unpleasantness readers brought up between you and Dasher. You can show you're a gentleman with nothing against the man. You can even wish him continued success. Maybe even mention how I never compared you two to begin with.”
Will loved the opportunity to help Liz, but she lacked one vital piece of information. "Liz," he interrupted.
She held up a finger to silence him. "Would you consider ever collaborating with Dasher?"
Before Will could speak, she answered her own question. "No, that wouldn't work. While even I must admit that your styles are similar, you would never be able to work together. You'd drive each other crazy."
Will bit his tongue as she continued
, "He would want to cut the emotion, poetic metaphors, and symbolisms from your work, and you'd want to add more depth to his characters..."
Her charming determination almost lulled Will into silence. But it was misguided. He had to tell her.
"Liz, please let me—"
"Just one minute, Will. I almost have it."
There was nothing to do but blurt the truth out and let the cards fall where they would. "I'm P. Dasher."
The distant look disappeared as she was forced out of her future plans to the reality of what he’d revealed to her.
Her jaw dropped and Will wasn't sure if the shock in her eyes was good or bad. He’d never seen her speechless before.
He gave her a few minutes to wrap her mind around his confession, then to settle any doubts certain to arise, he repeated it. "That's right, Liz. I'm P. Dasher. I wrote those books."
Falling back against her chair as if she didn't have the energy to sit up, she asked breathlessly, “Why?”
“I wanted — no, I needed to do something different. Charlie had just managed to get the movie deal and when we signed, the agent said to get ready for the circus. I didn’t take him seriously, but before I knew it, my face was plastered all over the papers and my inbox and voicemail was flooded with requests for interviews and exclusives. I panicked. I needed space to work. I needed a change of pace.” It all sounded so selfish and indulgent now.
She glared at him, and rightly so. He saw the judgment written all over her face. She thought he was a sell-out.
He explained further, "Liz, I needed the freedom of anonymity."
Her face clouded up like a storm and her voice cracked like lightning. "Not that why, Will! Why didn't you tell me sooner? You signed the deal, what, four years ago? Why did you keep this from me?"
He felt like a heel. He wanted so badly to justify his behavior, but it was impossible. He’d been wrong. He’d been afraid. “I almost did on our first date, but you were so against commercial fiction — soul-sucking, mind-numbing pulp you called it — I decided to wait. But it only got more difficult to tell you as time went by because your opinion mattered more to me. I didn’t want to lose you over a silly series of books.”