by Myrna Parks
Truth and Circumstances
by Myrna Parks
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
TRUTH AND CIRCUMSTANCES
Copyright © 2012 MYRNA PARKS
ISBN 978-1-62135-079-8
Cover Art Designed by For the Muse Designs
Edited by Kim Bowman
I gratefully acknowledge that all good things come through Jesus Christ, my Savior.
I dedicate this book to my husband Larry, who faithfully supports me in everything I do, and to Roberta Jones, who believed in me before I could believe in myself.
Chapter One
Bethany Ashton ran through the airport as if her feet were on fire.
With the strap of her canvas tote cutting grooves in one shoulder and the wheels of her suitcase banging against the new, tall-heeled shoes she had unwisely selected to wear, Beth frantically scanned the Atlanta airport in search of her boarding gate. Espying her terminal number ahead, she wheeled blindly around a concrete pillar and nearly collided with a stout middle-aged woman dressed in black spandex.
“Excuse me. So sorry,” Beth apologized with a breathless smile. The heavyset matron had stiff blonde hair, thick red lips, and generously shadowed eyelids. She raked a cold eye over Beth’s stylish suit and thick honey-colored hair.
Beth tossed another “Excuse me. So sorry” over her shoulder while moving toward her gate. “Wait!” she cried to the flight attendant on duty.
Not until Beth was safely aboard Flight 922 could she breathe a sigh of relief. She awkwardly shuffled her way toward the rear of the plane. To her delight, Beth soon discovered her window seat included a handsome seatmate with dark brown hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Instinctively, her hands came up, smoothing loose strands of hair neatly into place. With a nervous smile, she lifted her bag and wrestled with the latch of the overhead compartment.
The nice-looking gentleman came to her aid.
Beth noted the absence of a wedding band on his left hand, and painfully aware of his masculine presence in such a confined space, she quickly moved around his tall frame and slid into her seat. Casting a discreet sideways glance at his rumpled, brown sports coat and scruffy leather shoes, Beth decided the man reminded her of a college professor she once had a crush on.
Beth heard a click overhead. The man sat down, extended his right hand and said, “Hi, I’m Carter Phillips from Colorado.” As soon as Carter’s clasp enfolded hers, an odd sensation spread through her limbs like mercury through a glass thermometer.
To cover her embarrassment, words spurted from Beth’s mouth as fast as Old Faithful at full throttle. She rambled and sputtered, “I was so nervous last night — couldn’t sleep — took a sleeping tablet — overslept — had a flat — I’ve never changed a tire — my family doesn’t — they are upright, old-school, elite and… and…” Before she realized what she was doing, Beth heard herself confessing to this perfect stranger. “I feel like a plain Jane in a family of fame.”
Carter Phillips responded with an amused half-smile. “I wouldn’t call you plain.”
“You would if you saw my sister.”
“Every family has its share of overachievers.”
Beth heaved a sigh. “Alexis is not only beautiful and clever, my sister is the most successful television personality in Sacramento. If you met my sibling, you would understand why I feel like a simple crocus in a field of camellias.”
Carter shifted sideways and appearing to study Beth’s common, oval-shaped face and plain, unadorned, green eyes, he replied with a lopsided grin, “I would call you…interesting.”
Like a leaky tire on hot asphalt, Beth slumped in her seat. No woman she knew wanted to be called interesting. She turned and gazed through the window at the clear blue skies and tufts of white clouds floating on the distant horizon. A brief glance at her wristwatch reminded Beth how many hours had to pass before she would board her final flight to California.
Thoughts of Sacramento brought to mind what lay ahead. Returning her gaze to the man beside her, Beth apologized. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually talk this much. Well, at least, not to someone I just met. You must be tired of listening to me babble. Did I mention I had a flat tire on my way to the airport?”
Carter nodded. “And you nearly missed your flight out of Atlanta.”
“You probably wish you were seated beside someone like that.” Beth motioned to an elderly man with his eyes closed, seat reclined, and his hearing aid dangling from a shirt pocket.
“Not at all, I’m an astute observer of human nature. I find the idiosyncrasies of others more entertaining than my own.”
Beth wasn’t sure if she just wanted to hold the attention of such a good-looking stranger or if she hoped to gain his admiration, but she began to tell him the story of her life. “Then let me tell you about my family. My ancestors were some of the first settlers to enter California. They came across the ocean, over the mountains, and through the valleys. With little more than grit and determination, these relatives survived and multiplied. I descended from a long line of overachievers. My grandfather’s family settled in Sacramento and made their fortune in the railroad. Later, Grandfather pioneered a specialized exhaust system for one of America’s earliest automobiles. Dad built upon my grandfather’s name. My father now owns the only dealership in the U.S.A. for the MPI4000 sports car. My older brother is a world-famous racecar driver—”
“Is your brother, by any chance, Peter Ashton?”
Beth nodded.
Carter said, “I’m a little envious. I love fast cars and remember reading an article about your family when Ashton won the NASCAR.”
Beth groaned. “My mother is the absentminded professor in the family, although she’s not actually a professor. Mother is a chemist. She is currently working on an obscure project that could possibly land a nomination for the Nobel Prize.”
Carter expelled a long low whistle.
Beth shrugged. “See what I mean?”
Carter appeared to gaze at Beth in a new way. His eyes taking in her smart business suit, stylish leather shoes, and matching briefcase, he asked, “So what do you do?
Beth hesitated. Should she tell him? Could she admit to this pleasant-faced stranger the real reason she was winging her way back to Sacramento?
She told him.
“Let me get this straight.” Carter stared at Beth as if she had just sprouted wings and planned to dive through the sky. “You are flying all the way from the East Coast to the West Coast in hopes of meeting the world-famous author, Adrian Adams. And if you can manage a chance meeting, which sounds impossible to me, you plan to present this reclusive writer with a letter of introduction from your friend’s sister-in-law, who is a former coworker of Mr. Adams, whom he may or may not remember! You have planned all this, believing Adams will consent to read your manuscript and then assist you in getting published?”
Trying not to show how offended she felt, Beth exclaimed, “My work is good! Or at least my friend, Amy, and her husband, Bill, believe my manuscript is publishable.”
“Friends are seldom impartial.”
“Bill owns the newspaper where I work. Surely his opinion counts for something.”
“Then why doesn’t Bill help you get your material into the hands of a good editor?”
“Well…” Beth hesitated for several long seconds and then reluctantly admitted, “The Laurel Gazette is only a small-town newspaper.”
“What about this sister of his? You said she once worked with Adams. Why can’t she forward your book to him?”
Beth briefly wondered if Carter Phillips was bored on long flights or was he simply being polite, but his smile was encouraging, and so she explained, “Mary Ann tried to contact Mr. Adams, but his publishing house wouldn’t give out personal information. They told her they’d forward her letter, but she’s received no response. It’s been a long time since she worked with him. She was a freshman in college when employed as an errand girl inside his building. That was before he became a famous author. However, Mary Ann described Mr. Adams as a nice older gentleman who was always kind and patient with students. She feels confident that if I meet Mr. Adams in person and give him her handwritten letter of introduction, he will help me.”
Carter shook his head in disbelief. “Even though he avoids fans and would-be writers like the plague? Which is exactly what you are.”
Beth lifted her chin, knowing her plan sounded desperate even to her own ears. She was, however, determined to make the most of each sliver of opportunity. After all, most successful people take risks if they want to make it to the top.
“Do you think Adams is that good?” Carter interrupted her thoughts. “Do you believe one author has that much influence?”
Beth faced her critic with a cry of disbelief. “Adrian Adams is the greatest writer of this century.”
A frown developed between Carter’s eyebrows. “Some of Adams’s work — especially his early stuff, I have heard — is not that good.”
Beth gasped. “Are you kidding? His characters are strong. His plot keeps you reading until your eyeballs begin to shrivel. What more could you want?”
In mock surrender, Carter lifted both hands. “Okay, okay.” With a good-natured chuckle, he admitted, “You’ve sold me on Adrian Adams.”
“It would mean a great deal to have this man as my supporter.”
“I think you are placing too much importance in one man’s opinion. Why can’t you submit your manuscript to a publishing house like everyone else?”
“I’ve mailed query letter after query letter to every publisher and literary agent I can think of, and my rejections file is thicker than my phone book. Good publishing houses seldom read unsolicited materials. I need a sympathetic person who has influence inside the industry and I think this is my best chance.” Beth didn’t know what else to do. She realized she might be a little unrealistic in her expectations but she was desperate to find someone who could help her and felt this was her final hope.
Lifting one eyebrow, Carter pointed out the obvious. “During an international writer’s conference,” he said, “security is bound to be tight. Just how do you plan to gain an audience with this famous keynote speaker?"
Beth crossed her fingers, and lifted them defiantly into the air, “With a little luck,” she declared, “and a lot of prayer.”
****
It rarely rained in Sacramento in the summertime, but the fat raindrops exploding on Beth’s head didn’t put a damper on her determination. She scrambled inside the first empty cab she could find. The cabbie — whose slick hair, square jaw, and keen eyes reminded her of what she imagined a Latin dancer would look like — slid behind the wheel. Flashing his white-toothed smile and giving her a single glance in the rearview mirror, the man asked, “Where to, miss?”
Beth consulted the small notepad she held and read the address to him. The chauffeur skillfully guided the automobile into the intermittent stream of airport traffic. Once they were cruising down the expressway, the driver casually remarked, “This rain won’t last.”
Busy checking the items inside her newly purchased briefcase and its individual pockets that contained her precious book proposal with sample chapters, Beth glanced upwards with a polite smile, but chose to remain silent.
The driver asked another question Beth didn’t catch. “What was that?” She touched the neatly typed pages, making certain she could easily lay her hands on the CD that contained her synopsis and sample chapters, as well as the single thumb drive, containing the entire manuscript. Beth had come prepared for success.
“I just wondered where you’re from,” the man commented. “You are the third fare I’ve deposited at the Conference Center since noon.”
“Currently, I live in a small town in north Georgia, about three hours away from Atlanta.”
“You don’t talk like no Southerner.”
“I grew up in Sacramento.”
“Ah! I thought you sounded like a native.”
“I’m here for a writer’s conference and a short visit with my family.”
“You’re a writer?” The man looked impressed. “Anyone I know?”
“I work for a newspaper in Laurel, Georgia.” Beth refrained from explaining that her job had nothing to do with this trip.
The cabbie continued a steady stream of friendly conversation. Beth found it hard to concentrate. She fingered the letter addressed to Adrian Adams, reassured by the feel of the paper. Regardless of what Carter Phillips might think about her chances, she chose to remain optimistic.
The driver’s voice punctured her musings. “In what part of town does your family live?” When Beth mentioned her parents’ estate, she received the typical glance of respect in the mirror. She realized the man would now expect a generous tip and regretted revealing so much.
As she conversed freely with another stranger, Beth thought of Carter Phillips. She felt a flash of embarrassment. How could she have talked so much? Reluctantly, she recalled the way she had chattered most of the day about every woman’s favorite topic — herself. When she changed planes in Utah, she apologized repeatedly for monopolizing their conversation. Phillips had just smiled with an amused gleam in his eye. Now that she had time to reflect, Beth began to wonder if her handsome stranger might have been laughing at her all along.
Chapter Two
The cab driver was right about the rain.
By the time the car arrived downtown, the rain had stopped, the clouds were gone, and the California sun was greedily sucking moisture from the busy sidewalk.
“Thank you,” Beth said, handing the man a moderate tip. Just because her family was rich did not mean she was loaded.
The driver gave her a cold stare. Reluctantly, he removed her luggage from the trunk and tossed the bags roughly onto the sidewalk in front of the high-rise building.
Beth hated dealing with baggage. There was too little time; she would have to keep her luggage with her until after registration. She shouldered the smaller bag and wheeled her larger suitcases toward the glass-fronted building. Beth had longed to arrive looking fresh, professional, and confident. Instead, travel had consumed her day, and now she felt hot, disheveled, and hungry. Her stomach rumbled, and she regretted turning up her nose at the food served aboard the airplane. In addition, she wished she had conquered her vanity and dressed for comfort rather than fashion. With each painful footstep across the sweltering pavement, her feet throbbed in her stylish new heels.
The uniformed doorman, a heavyset man dressed in green livery with shiny brass buttons, opened the door with a respectful nod. Beth entered the posh building and noticed how quiet it was inside; the discreet murmur of intelligent beings the only sound inside the marbled entranceway.
Beth planted her suitcases inconspicuously behind a giant palm and then walked toward a mahogany counter where a large group of people gathered, separated into five distinct lines. There were attendants standing behind the desk, all dressed in dark suits with official nametags, greeting each customer with synthetic smiles.
Tired and hungry, Beth waited impatiently. Each person in front of her, whether short, tall, fat or small, stepped up to the counter and gav
e a name. After a few clicks of the attendant’s mouse and a brief glance at the computer screen, every applicant received a packet of information, complete with security clearance nametags. Registered guests then either meandered toward one of the gold-plated elevators or left the building by the same entrance they had arrived.
At last, Beth stepped forward. Making eye contact with the petite young woman, whose smooth dark skin and slanted brown eyes matched the picture on her badge identifying her as Beverly, Beth told the young woman her name and the title of the conference she planned to attend.
As the neatly groomed clerk searched the database, Beth resisted the urge to whine to the fresh-faced woman in the line beside her that it had been fourteen hours since she had left her apartment neatly clad and perfectly coifed.
After several long moments, and without a single wrinkle in her smooth, dark brows, Beverly said, “I’m sorry, but I find no one by the name ‘Ashton’ registered for any type of conference inside this building.”
Without blinking, Beth stood still for a full five seconds. When she found enough oxygen to expand her lungs, she exclaimed, “There must be some mistake! I paid online, months ago. I have my itinerary right here...” Beth reached inside her bag. When she laid her hands on the schedule, she felt relieved she’d printed it off. “See?” She thrust the paperwork beneath the young woman’s nose.
Beverly peered suspiciously at the document. Returning to her computer, the clerk’s fingers flew rapidly across the keyboard. With her head moving slowly from side to side, the young woman questioned Beth, “Do you have a confirmation number?”
Feeling weak in the knees, Beth leaned forward and whimpered to the young attendant, “I failed to record the number on my paperwork.”
“I’m sorry, but we have no one by the name of Ash-ton.”
Beth wanted to scream but managed to speak with an imitation of a calm voice. “But that’s impossible. Then, please, can’t you simply add me now? I’ll give you my credit card.”