I also started a blog.
I was an anti-social butterfly, but I was making strides in the right direction. To log in to any of the accounts, I had to go through the trouble of walking to the elevator, riding it downstairs, and going into the lobby. The inconvenience of doing so kept my social time to a minimum. After I finished writing, I’d get online for an hour or so.
It was usually at two am.
“I’ve got Facebook, Twitter, and a blog,” I said.
“Good. Use them.”
“Okay.”
“Congrats on the success of Baby Girl, by the way. Let’s hope this one does just as well.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“Write me a book about a cop,” she said. “A dirty cop.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
We ended the call, with me agreeing to write her a dirty cop book as soon as I was able. It seemed once I was in the groove to write, doing so was second nature. Instead of losing my writing mojo, I quickly wrote a romantic comedy of sorts, entitled The AlphaBet. The protagonist, Christy Cross, was an alpha female, and a drunk. She had a tremendous sense of wit, and an insatiable appetite for sex.
In a drunken stupor, she bet her best friend that she could screw her way through the alphabet before summer’s end.
I published it before the ink dried on Baby Girl II.
Baby Girl II went on to be another number one bestseller. The AlphaBet wasn’t far behind. My check from Amazon at the end of the month was enough to pay my rent, pay Teddy a portion of what I owed him, buy another case of Ramen noodles, and purchase a five-hundred-dollar car. It was a far cry from the BMW I was accustomed to, but over the course of the last year, I’d learned to love the taste of humble pie.
When everything was paid, I had roughly a hundred dollars left to last me the remainder of the month.
Elated at my successes, I quickly began writing Baby Girl III.
I struggled mentally with how to end the Baby Girl series. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t know how to end it as much as it was not wanting it to end. I knew I would write another series. Developing two characters I enjoyed as much as Kelli and Erik, however, would be a difficult task.
While I fumbled with writing a scene, my phone dinged, indicating a text message had been received.
When I opened the text message window, I saw a phone number I didn’t recognize. Upon reading the text message, my throat tightened.
My heart paused.
Then, I struggled to breathe.
Chapter Twenty
The text was broken into two messages. I devoured the message as if I were starving.
In many respects, I was.
Scott, this is Jessica. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but we used to hang out a lot. If you’re up for it, I’d like to get a cup of coffee. I think about you a lot.
My heart palpitated.
I fumbled to type a response.
I’d love to get a cup of coffee. How have you been? I think about you quite
I paused, read the unfinished message, and backspaced until it was gone.
When are you thinking? I’ve been pretty busy lately, and getting away from here is difficult, at best
Once again, I deleted the message before finishing it. Then, I typed another.
Jess, I’d love to meet you for coffee. I’m guessing you’re out of that relationship. Otherwise you’d
I highlighted the message and deleted it. Then, I typed a simple response.
Sure
I read it, grinned, and pressed send.
Her response was immediate.
What time works for you?
I looked at my watch. It was fifteen minutes past noon.
12:30?
Again, her response was instantaneous.
Okay
To get there in fifteen minutes, I needed to pick a spot at a halfway point between us. It didn’t take much time for me to decide.
Donut Whole? I asked.
She sent me a smiley face in response.
I jumped in the shower, shaved my head, and got dressed. After hopping into my jalopy, I sped down the street and screeched into the parking lot with two minutes to spare.
Jess was standing outside of her Mazda Protégé.
It was late fall, but the weather was warm that day. She was wearing fun pants, heels, and a sleeveless top. Seeing her caused me to choke on my breath. Whatever weight she felt she needed to lose when we’d first met was long gone.
Her cheeks were gaunt, her skin was tan, and her hair was bigger than ever. I parked my car, took a long admiring look at her, and reached for the door handle. I had no idea what her intentions were, but I hoped we could reconcile a relationship of some sort.
I got out of the car and opened my arms.
She rushed to me, all but knocking me down in the process. When we hugged, I lifted her from the ground and turned in a circle. After lowering her to her feet, I took a step back and looked her over.
“You look great,” I said.
“So do you.” She gestured toward my Craigslist SUV. “I like your new car.”
“First things first,” I said. “Are you single?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry about that text I sent you,” I said. “I was excited about the book and I wasn’t thinking. It was selfish of me.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Things between us ended right after that, anyway.”
“Not because of that text?”
“No. It just. I thought things might work out with him, but they didn’t.” She looked away, shook her head, and then met my gaze. “He wasn’t you. You were all I ever thought about.”
“I thought about you a couple of times,” I said, stretching the rubber band of truth to the point of failure.
She looked remarkable. Finding it difficult not to stare, I gestured to the entrance. “Should we?”
She smiled and turned toward the building. I wanted her to take her usual position at my left side, but she didn’t. Wearing a smile she couldn’t see, I followed her inside and to the counter. After ordering, we took a seat at the very same table where we met for the first time.
“How have you been?” she asked.
I inhaled a long breath. “I’ve been better. You?”
“I’ve got a new job. I’m doing hair close to where you live, I think.”
“Downtown?”
“In Old Town,” she said. “In between First and Second.”
“You’re a block from me.”
She smiled. “I thought I was.” She sipped her coffee for a moment, and then looked beyond me. “I like the salon. It pays good. I’m pretty happy with everything. I’ve been working out and stuff, too. I feel really good.”
“You look great.”
“So, what about you?” She looked right at me. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“I’ve been through quite a bit since we saw each other last.”
She looked me over and smiled. “Like what?”
I didn’t want to tell her of my struggles with everything, but I felt I needed to. “The bank repossessed my car and my motorcycles, including my chopper.”
Her smile vanished. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve been writing books, but it’s not what you’d think. I’m making enough to pay my rent, but not enough to buy groceries. Right now, I’ve got a hundred bucks, and I got paid two days ago. It’s got to last me a month.”
She smiled. “How about you let me buy lunch?”
I shook my head. “I’ll buy.”
She laughed. “I know better than to argue with you.”
We walked across the street to a sandwich shop. When we stepped inside, I noticed Teddy sitting in the center of the restaurant with a female friend of his. Upon seeing Jess, he jumped up and ran to her.
Teddy was dressed in his typical flannel shirt and was wearing his winter beard. Sprinkled with gray and nearly to his ch
est, the mass of hair growing from his face was a tangled mess.
“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” he said.
“Same here,” she responded.
“What are you two doing?”
She looked him over and smiled. “Eating lunch.”
“Will I see you again?” he asked. “Are you sticking around?”
She looked at me.
I glared at Teddy. “Go get some business of your own, you nosey prick.”
He flipped me the bird and went back to his table.
After sharing a great lunch of soup and sandwiches, we walked across the street. As soon as we reached our cars, she checked her watch, and then gasped.
“I’ve got to get to work.”
I looked her up and down, and then gave a nod. “It was nice seeing you.”
“I read that book after you sent me that text.” She smiled a guilty smile. “Broken People. Sasha read it, too. It was really good.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, I better get going,” she said.
I opened my arms. She took a step toward me, and I took one toward her. We held each other for some time before breaking the embrace. I’d hugged her hundreds of times, but that time it felt different.
Reluctantly, I released her.
She gave a finger wave and turned toward her car. It was the same vehicle she’d driven in high school, a Mazda Protégé with three hundred thousand miles on it. Jess may have been beautiful, but she was humble while being so.
I got into my SUV and stared at the brick wall of the building. I had mixed feelings about our meeting. My heart was filled with emotion but acting on it wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped it might be.
Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in front of my computer. Uncertain of what I truly wanted, I began to type.
The paragraphs turned into chapters, and the chapters formed into a story. As it unfolded, my heart filled with even more emotion. That night I wrote nearly fourteen thousand words while listening to my playlist on loop.
When I stopped, I realized I wanted what Kelli and Erik had.
A fairy tale.
I Googled the definition of the word.
fair·y tale ˈferē tāl/ noun - a fabricated story, especially one intended to deceive.
I laughed to myself, saved my day’s work, and went to bed.
Chapter Twenty-One
In the week that followed, I finished writing Baby Girl III. During that same period of time, Jess and I shared a few text messages. I found it rewarding to communicate with her, even if it was without seeing her.
I also found it confusing. My head and heart were once again at battle with one another.
I read the manuscript, struggling with the ending being too cliché. Eventually, I decided readers of romance wanted just what I’d provided. A fairy tale. Something that allowed them to escape from reality. A story that caused them, if even for only a fleeting moment, to believe in love.
My books were sprinkled with my personality, my experiences, and my desires, but they were simply a series of lies assembled in a manner that told a story. I read the manuscript again. I came to the realization that I was not only satisfying my readers with an escape from reality, I was further satisfying myself.
I had found a way to fulfill my own desires. Forcing myself to believe, for that same fleeting moment, that love truly existed. I had the luxury of knowing that love was nothing more than a word that was spoken in an effort to manipulate another being.
The human heart was easily influenced. My experiences with relationships stood as proof of the complications associated with believing the elements in the stories I told could be perceived as being truthful.
I’d taken the relationship challenge on half a dozen occasions, and each time it failed miserably. I attributed those failures to my keen sense of human nature, and my ability to smell the stench of manipulation and lies from a mile away.
While in mid-thought, I received a text message from Jess.
Driving to St. Louis to drop off kids at my mom’s. Be back this weekend. :)
It didn’t matter if she was in St. Louis or San Diego. Our relationship was now two-dimensional and consisted of nothing more than text messages. It was lesser than it was before. My heart had been teased with a glimpse of her. Now confused on what we had, and more confused on what I wanted, I found it difficult to focus on anything for longer than a few minutes.
I took three dollars from my month’s funds, walked around the corner, and bought a cup of coffee. The coffee shop, Espresso to Go-Go, was new to the city. The owner, Warren, enjoyed his customers as much as he enjoyed hand-crafting them a cup of coffee. I found his Taoistic approach to living life fascinating. In the Baby Girl series, Kelli and Erik met at this very coffee shop on their first date.
“How’s the writing?” he asked as I stepped to the counter.
“Good, thanks.”
“Usual?”
I nodded and reached into my pocket.
He shook his head. “This one’s on me.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “I appreciate you putting this place in the book.”
“You’re in the last book, too.”
“That’s awesome.”
He handed me the cup of coffee. “Here you go.”
“I’ve got a question for you,” I said.
“Shoot.”
“Do you believe in love?”
He pointed to his wife, who worked at his side, running the cash register. “Twenty years.”
“Do you think we just settle, though? Most people?”
“I’m sure some do,” he said. “Others wait long enough to find it.”
I looked at her, and then at him. “How’d you know? How’d you know she was the one?”
They responded in unison. “The first kiss.”
I smiled and raised my cup of coffee in mock toast. “That’s cute.”
Certain that they’d rehearsed that response over the years, and that they’d convinced themselves the kiss was truly the point in time where their love for each other was revealed, I didn’t press the subject any further.
I took a seat and sipped my coffee.
“Where’s uhhm. Where’s the girl that was coming in here with you?” Warren asked.
I chuckled. “Found out she was married. Told her to kick rocks.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head lightly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with people.”
“I do,” I said. “They want a moment’s satisfaction, and nothing more. It’s the internet’s fault. It’s driven us to have expectation of getting what we want right now. You’re one click away from whatever it is you desire. Need a bag of almonds? Click. A bicycle? Click. Nobody goes Christmas shopping any more. They just click, click, click. Shit, there’s dating apps where you swipe your thumb across the screen to get a date. My oldest son’s friend was showing me. It’s ridiculous. I think commitment is a thing of the past. Before you know it, there’ll be the ‘one-click dick’. Just click the button and Jeff Bezos will send you a man with ripped abs and a foot-long schlong.”
He looked up from wiping down his espresso machine. “I’m sure that day’s coming.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” I chuckled. “I might write a book about it.”
When I was half finished with my coffee I walked home. During that walk, I thought about Warren’s response to my question about love. I’d written such ridiculousness into my books regarding kisses.
A kiss never lies.
It was one thing to write about it.
Believing it, however, was another thing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Friday evening arrived, and I continued to struggle with the release of Baby Girl III. One thing I quickly found out about being self-employed was that there were no weekends. Every day was the same. They were all opportunities for me to develop another bestselling novel, but only if I was making an effort to do so.
My phone
beeped.
I swept my thumb across the screen. A message from Jess appeared.
My last client cancelled. Busy?
I typed my response.
Not so much.
Want to hang out? she asked.
If her last client cancelled, it meant she was across the street, at her salon. In the past, I hadn’t allowed women into my house unless I was in a relationship with them. Keeping women away from the place I lived eliminated any confusion as to what my intentions were.
The northern side of my loft was constructed of windows. From three feet off the floor to the top of the sixteen-foot high structure, the sixty-foot long wall was made of glass.
I peered through the window, and down at the busy street. I lived in Old Town, which was Wichita’s party district. The streets were lined with restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and a movie theatre.
My building was in the center of it all.
The city was crawling with the early night crowd that was hoping to get a seat at their favorite restaurant or club before it became so packed they couldn’t get in. I had no desire to manipulate my way through the crowd and meet her anywhere.
Nor did I have any desire to drive through the traffic. In a moment of weakness, I typed my response.
Come here
Where’s here? she asked.
I gave her my address, further explaining how to get past the security system. I then gave directions on where the elevator was. Then, I sat at my desk and watched out my third-floor window for her to arrive.
I smiled as she walked from the parking lot to the front door. She possessed a certain elegance in her gait, especially when she wore heels. Watching her walk was akin to watching a miracle unfold.
In a few moments, she knocked on the door.
I opened the door. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a white top that had a chevron pattern printed on it. The top fit her as if it were made for her. The jeans were cuffed perfectly, the bottoms hovering two inches over a pair of leopard print heels.
She looked adorable.
I waved toward the living area. “This is it.”
LOVER COME BACK_An Unbelievable But True Love Story Page 10