CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Six Months Later
"Wow," said Emily, the daytime talk show host, shifting in her well-lit seat. "Wow, wow, wow. I don’t know where to begin!" She glanced at the audience, safely sequestered behind dim lighting. "So Amy Matthews isn’t a . . . a real person?"
Ben sat in the green room. I knew he was watching me on a backstage monitor. Together with a talented PR agent, we'd discussed how best to handle Amy Mathews sudden unveiling and death. Nobody likes being lied to. Nobody likes a liar.
"I mean, how did this even come to be?" Emily asked.
I liked Emily. She was funny. I'd seen her shows before; I liked her dry sense of humor. She'd also had some skeletons pop out of her closet some years back that had dragged her career into a rather dull light. She understood. She would be the most sympathetic, which is why I was currently sitting on her guest couch, and not Dr. Phillips or Olivia's. She provided the ideal platform for me to handle my own animated little skeleton.
"You know," I began, "it all happened so suddenly. I'd written this book, this vampire book that was kinda popular and,”—polite titters.
"Yeah, just a little bit," replied Emily, picking up on the mood of her audience.
"Okay, very popular. But you see, I had this problem. I had just lost my mom and . . ." I paused, thinking about her. PR guru told me to pause often for gravitas. Her voice came to me now, breathe one two, and go. But this wasn't a dress rehearsal. Suddenly, mom's memory rushed to me, reaching for me, coupled with memories of Virginia. Tears, disastrous tears, stung my eyes. Whatever you do, don't cry! PR Guru had cautioned. Nobody likes a crybaby.
But I couldn't help it. The pain was still so raw in my heart. Every day I heard Virginia's voice saying the damnedest things, making me laugh, making me cry, making me miss Thunder Bum.
"Sorry," I murmured. "This is really hard for me."
Emily whipped out a box of Kleenex.
I looked out at the audience, one single nebulous entity that could make me or break me. PR Guru was back. Just tell them a part of the truth. Nobody wants to hear every last gory detail.
But I looked up again at Emily, her hair freshly frosted, her blue crystalline eyes, merry and glittering, silently imploring me to . . .
"Go on."
I took a deep breath. "Sorry, this is a little overwhelming."
Emily slapped me on the knee. "Ohhhh, what's so overwhelming? We only have five million viewers!" She looked at me again. Her eyes weren't so merry. They were serious. Her eyes, the color of happy tropical waters, darkened. Dance, she was telling me. Dance, monkey, dance.
I pulled in a deep breath. Virginia was with me. I could feel her invigorating presence, telling Emily to stuff a sock in it. I smiled a little. And Mom was with me. She sat next to me, holding my hand. You can do it, honey . . . And in the back room, I had Ben.
"I had a terrible problem. I couldn't go out in public. I had some really bad social phobias. Have, I mean, but I’m getting a lot better." Silence from the shadows. Sympathetic? One could only hope. "And yeah, I wrote this book about vampires because during my mom’s battle with cancer that's what I felt like. I felt like a dead person. And then suddenly, we got an agent. And then the book sold, you know, about four copies,"—the titters were back, Emily was back—"but I wasn't able to do the interviews. I wasn't able to do all the talking. So my sister, Virginia, stepped in. She really saved me. In a lot of ways, if it wasn't for her, After The End would have never existed. So I owe her a debt of gratitude. And—and now that's she's gone,"—be strong—"well, she lives on in my books."
Emily, emotionally agile, put her hand on my knee and said some sympathetic words that I didn't hear. I was too busy focusing on holding back to the tears. I smiled a brittle smile, hoping she’d see my silent plea and drive our little interview vehicle onto happier terrain.
"Speaking of, I hear you have another book coming out!"
The audience erupted in applause. I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yes, yes I do. I am finally writing under my own name." I turned to the audience, kind of wishing I could see their faces, but not really. "But it's still me, I mean Amy Mathews. We have the same writing style."
Laughter.
"And so I hear you’re working on a new book?" Emily asked. She already knew the answer. We were playing 'toss the ball' for the viewers at home.
I straightened and winced as a sharp pain scissored up my leg. It had taken four screws to reconstruct my ankle and months of rehabilitation. The pain took me back to that night. The night the lion ate Dillon and set me free.
The police had wanted to shoot the lion dead. But I’d stood in their line of sight, arms raised, demanding that they tranquilize him instead. After he fell, I had him relocated to a legitimate lion sanctuary, where he grew sleek, fat, and stunning.
Then I had him flown out to Africa, where he teamed up with another bachelor male, acquired a pride, and currently lived out his days happy and free on the Serengeti. Ben and I had plans to visit him, after my ankle healed up completely. After I got this book off of the front burner.
“Yes, I am. It's a memoir," I said, feeling stronger, feeling whole. "Called I Am The Lion."
THE END
THANK YOU
Thank you for taking the time to read I Am The Lion. I sincerely hope you didn’t miss Netflix! As an independent author, reviews are more important than ever. If you enjoyed reading this book, please consider leaving your review. I look forward to hearing from you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
My mom misspelled my name at birth, on purpose she says, but later admitted that maybe she wasn’t thinking so straight after the pain meds. So I’ve been ‘Rachelle pronounced Rachel’ my whole life. Since that’s too long to put on a book cover, I’ll just add that pedantic note in my bio.
I don’t know why I keep pounding away on the keyboard, but I have a lot of fun doing it. So I figure I’ll keep going as long as the stories keep coming. Speaking of, my next offering Little Shop Of Wonders is due out later this year.
An American expat since 2008, I live in Singapore these days with my husband, gorgeous baby boy, and the most adorable rescue pup ever. Well, we think so anyway.
Thanks again for the support.
I Am The Lion: A Riveting Psychological Thriller Page 23