Angie sat down on the stool beside him and punched him in the arm.
“Ow. You do realize I can get you for sexual harassment. This has been pointed out to you in your sensitivity training, correct?”
“What sensitivity training?” Angie asked. She nodded to Christi. “Can I get a Coke?” She teased Sage a bit more. “Do you mean the sensitivity training put on by the Key West Lesbian Bar Owners Local Number 69? Afraid I was out sick that day.”
“You’re such a bitch,” Sage said. He poured himself some ice water from the pitcher on the bar.
Angie noticed. “No mimosa?”
He pointed at the water. “I’ll have you know I’ve cut back. You haven’t witnessed it because you’ve been off waxing your boat.”
“I’ve not been waxing my boat. Jesus.”
“You two are so funny together.” Christi handed Angie her Coke.
“Glad you think so.” Angie took a drink.
Sage wouldn’t let it go. “What’ve you been doing then? Sailing down to Cuba?”
Angie glared at him. “There was a notice in the ‘Jobs Wanted’ section in Key West on the Town that someone was searching for an entertainment director position. I think I’ll go home, dig out the ad, and give the queen a call.”
Christi laughed.
“You think that’s funny?” Sage asked.
“Actually, yeah.”
“I’m so abused.”
“Good Lord, Sage. Spare me the dramatics,” Angie said.
He threw his arm around Angie and leaned his head on her shoulder. “Admit it. You love me.”
“Sure I do.”
“But you still haven’t told me what you’ve been up to these past few weeks.” He straightened and clinked the ice in his water glass.
“Writing. I’ve been writing.”
“Really? I’m aware you wrote those three novels, but you’re writing more?”
“Yes. I finished a novel this past week.”
“You know…” He swirled his finger around the outside of his glass. “I’ve never asked you this because I never wanted to pry. And because I value the paycheck you give me every week. But…”
“But what?” Angie asked.
“Those have to be the highest selling lesbian novels of all time for you to afford all that you do. I believe I know enough about lesbian publishing to say that you can’t make the money you seem to have raked in.” He nudged her elbow. “Come on. You can tell old Sage. Do you run guns for the Cubans?”
“Good grief. This isn’t the sixties, and I don’t work for the CIA.”
Christi snickered. “Now that I’d like to see.”
“Don’t encourage him, Christi.”
“Drugs?” Sage asked.
“What about them?”
“You know, do you sell drugs?” His grin was playful, but he almost appeared to believe what he was asking.
“Do I look like someone who’d sell drugs?” Angie was getting annoyed.
“That’s part of the plan, isn’t it? You’re supposed to blend in and be inconspicuous.”
“Christi, help me out.”
“Hey, I’m not sure I can on this one.” Christi stepped down to the other end of the bar to take a drink order.
“I’m an author. And yes, I do get royalties from my book sales. Your question regarding how I made my money should be answered soon.”
“That sounds rather cryptic.” He did his typical imaginary flip of his hair.
“It has to stay that way a little longer. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Sage crinkled his brow as he contemplated her words. “Hmm.”
Angie’s cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. She checked the caller ID. Sally. She held up the phone as she hopped down from the stool. “Gotta go.”
“You realize this waiting will drive me crazy, don’t you?” Sage yelled at her as she stepped outside to take the call.
Angie blew him a kiss.
“Bitch!” he shouted.
She stepped out into the heat. Was she ready to hear this? She answered the phone.
“Wait, Sal.” Angie sat down on the bench in front of another bar two doors from the Cozy Conch. “Okay.” She braced herself for whatever was to come.
“You’re sitting down?”
At least Sally didn’t sound strained, and she wasn’t shouting. “Yes.”
“They fucking love it.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not joking,” Sally said. “But this hasn’t been easy. Believe me. Ted Stein tossed around the word ‘lawsuit’ more than once. Lawyers entered the picture, of course, including ours. I’m not stupid. I went into that meeting prepared. It’s not been a fun week. You do know who Ted Stein is, don’t you?”
Angie pinched the bridge of her nose with her index fingers. “Yes, Sally. He’s the second in command there at Stanley & Schilling.”
“Then you know how fucking scared I was. Eric was there from the editorial department, and Stein called marketing into the mix. The reason it took so long this week is because marketing had to conduct research. Go figure.”
“Why would they need to do research?”
“To find out how this will play in Peoria. There was no way they’d let you come forward without conducting it. The big question was how Mr. Manly Man in some small town would react to finding out his favorite macho detective novelist is a lesbian.”
“And?”
“They love the idea. It’s the way you write your books, Angie. Mr. Manly Man found it hot that a woman could write like that, just the opposite of what Stanley & Schilling thought. Marketing thinks the fact you’ve already sold millions of copies made a huge difference. Derek Barker is a household name thanks to you and the detective series on TV.”
“What did Stein say to all of this?” Angie’s anxiety level kicked up several notches.
“His exact words were, ‘Copelman, you’re the damn agent, why didn’t you think of this before? We could’ve made millions more.’ I didn’t point out to the arrogant prick that it was their idea you use the pseudonym in the first place.”
“Sally, I’m not doing this to make more money. I told you that.”
“Please don’t rain on my little parade. When I entered that huge conference room Tuesday, I was shaking, knowing what I was about to divulge could get us sued or kicked out from under the wing of Stanley & Schilling. Or both. They were gushing about publicity by the time we finished today.”
Angie’s heart skipped a beat. She had no intention of doing this for publicity. What did they expect her to do?
“Norah Hall’s name came up a few times.”
“Goddammit! I’m not going on Norah.”
“Chill, okay?”
Angie heard horns honking and traffic noise in the background.
“Where are you?”
“I just stepped out of the building and am walking down Sixth Avenue.”
“Did you tell them this was my last book?” There was no answer. “Sally?”
“Yes. I broke down and told them when they started making plans for your new contract. I said you’d written the last Derek Barker novel.”
“And their response was?”
“This is the part you won’t like. The only way they won’t sue us is if you continue the Barker series. They’re anticipating even bigger sales on your future titles, as well as your backlist.”
“The Barker character freaking gets killed in this last book.” Angie resisted the urge to lose her lunch in the nearby bush. This wasn’t what she had in mind.
“You killed him off?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then you better resurrect him because, trust me, they’ll refuse that manuscript. I’ll lose my business, and you’ll be out of millions.”
Angie leaned over and put her elbows on her knees. She gripped the phone tighter and grabbed her hair with her other hand. “What the fuck?” she said in a whisper.
“Listen to me and think about th
is. You’re getting what you wanted. You’re getting your freedom to live your life as Angelina Cantinnini who happens to write as Zach England. Everyone will know now, and you won’t have to worry about hiding anymore.”
“I don’t want to have my personal space invaded by reporters out for an interview.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you made the decision to have your girlfriend interview you. You should have thought of that before you asked me to fly to New York and have the meeting of a lifetime.” Sally’s voice continued to rise. “You have a responsibility. You’re a grown-up. I’d think you would’ve figured these things out by now.”
As Angie listened to Sally rant, she kept gripping her hair and letting it go, as if the action would somehow make all of this disappear.
“Hello?”
“I’m here!” Angie shouted into the phone. “I’m here,” she added in a calmer voice.
“This may not be what you envisioned, but it’s the reality of the situation.”
Angie tapped her foot on the sidewalk and studied two ants struggling with a breadcrumb in and out of the cracks of concrete. Yeah, I know exactly how you feel, guys.
“Angie…” Sally used her gentle “I’m-going-to-get-my-way-why-don’t-you-just-accept-it?” agent voice. “You really don’t have much of a choice.” Sally sounded more chipper. “Hey, I have some news that should cheer you up.”
“Yeah? Stanley & Schilling is going under?”
“No, smart-ass. I told them you were writing a lesbian novel and had inquired about their gay and lesbian imprint, Outside the Lines Books.”
Angie straightened. “What did they say?”
“They said that they’d look at it. Even though they have the leverage of suing us, they still want you happy. Eric sounded encouraging.”
Angie sat with one arm across her chest and her hand tucked under her other arm while she pressed the phone to her ear.
“Angie?”
Feeling she was free of Derek Barker had helped her write her best Zach England book in years. Maybe this was what she needed to continue the upturn in writing. “I’ll do it. I’ll rewrite the Barker novel and sign another contract. Like you said, I don’t have much of a choice.”
“That’s my girl!”
“Don’t get carried away.”
Sally laughed.
“Two things I insist on are that Meryl gets the first interview and Stanley & Schilling stays quiet until her article appears in print. Then they can release a statement that this was at my insistence.”
“They want Norah—”
“I swear to God, Sally, if you say Norah freaking Hall’s name one more time, I’m hanging up.”
“Calm down.” The background noise vanished on Sally’s end of the line. “Hang on. I’m taking a seat in the hotel lobby… there. Okay. I have one question. If Meryl McClain isn’t taking your calls, how will you get her to see you?”
“Unfortunately, it involves deception again, but this time, it’s for a good cause. Make a call to Meryl’s office. Identify yourself as ‘Sally Copelman, agent to Pulitzer winners.’”
Sally grunted. “Yeah, right.”
“Tell Meryl you have a new up-and-coming author in the literary field that you’d like her to interview.”
“How will she agree to that?” Sally sounded skeptical.
“If you could get me to go along with this Zach England thing eight years ago, you can pull this off.”
“And who do I say is this ‘up-and-coming author’?”
“Give her the name ‘Grace Ireland.’”
“England. Ireland. I get it. Cute. Very cute.”
* * *
Angie waited nervously outside Meryl’s office at the New York Banner. Employees hurried up and down the hall. She almost expected to see reporters rush past her with copy held up high as they ran to their editors with the latest scoop. But she wasn’t in the news department and this wasn’t the movies.
Wade approached her.
“Ms. McClain will see you now.”
He led her down the hall to a glassed-in office with Meryl’s name stenciled on it in bold letters. Meryl, dressed in a deep purple linen pantsuit, had her back to the door as she shuffled through some papers.
“Ms. Ireland is here to see you, Meryl,” Wade said. He showed Angie into the room and shut the door behind him.
Meryl turned around with a smile, but then it fell from her face and her eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Meryl, let me—”
Meryl stepped out from behind her desk. She brushed past Angie to the door and started to open it. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest.
Angie put her hand against the door.
“Take your hand away now.” Meryl spoke each word distinctly.
“Please hear me out first. If you don’t want to talk to me after listening to what I have to say, you can call security to escort me from the building, and you’ll never see me again.” Angie searched Meryl’s eyes. “And you have no idea how hard it is for me to say that.”
Meryl released the doorknob. She nodded at the chair in front of her desk. Angie sat down, smoothing her black slacks.
Meryl took her seat at her desk. “Obviously, you used a fake name to get this interview, which now that I think about it seems to be an obsession with you. I take it you asked your agent to make the call?”
Angie continued running her fingers over her slacks. She seemed uncomfortable in her dress clothes. Meryl imagined she rarely ranged far from the laid-back living of Key West.
“Angie?”
“I’m sorry? My mind isn’t working. Would you mind repeating what you asked me?”
Meryl repeated the question.
“Yes. Sally can be quite persuasive, as I’m sure you found out over the phone. She’s the one who convinced me to go along with this ruse eight years ago.”
“Don’t try to put this all on her. You could have said no.”
“You’re right. I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Angie tugged on her pants some more. “I’ll answer all of your questions, but what I really want is for you to interview me. At least that part of my visit is true.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want you to interview me. I want you to reveal who Zach England really is.”
Meryl had been rocking back in her chair, listening to Angie. She dropped her chair down and slapped her palms on the desk. “What did you say?”
“I want you to have the scoop. I’m not sure why you haven’t revealed my identity, but—” With a wave of her hand, Angie stopped Meryl before she could speak. “But it doesn’t matter. I want you to have the story. That is if you want it.”
Meryl stared at Angie. Then anger welled up.
“Why, Angie? More money? Don’t you have enough?”
“No. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. What I did before…” Angie’s voice shook. “What I did before was wrong and hurtful. I betrayed your trust. I’m so sorry.”
Meryl softened her expression, but then she thought of something else. “If you think this will get me back…”
“No. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. I’m afraid I’ve already lost you.” Tears welled in Angie’s eyes and rolled down her face. “Shit.” She wiped them away. “I’m saying I want you to have the story before it’s released anywhere else. I want you to break the news.”
“And your publisher?” Meryl kept her tone businesslike.
“They know. I had Sally, my agent, tell them. They wanted me on Norah. I told them no. It had to be your story first, or we weren’t doing it at all.”
Meryl watched as Angie continued to fidget in her chair.
“All right,” Meryl said. “All right.” She pulled out a small tape recorder from her briefcase. “Let’s get started. We’ll begin with my initial question—why did you do this?”
Dead si
lence.
“We can’t do this if you don’t answer the questions.” Meryl let her anger register.
Angie straightened in her chair.
“It started eight years ago in Chicago when I met with my agent, Sally Copelman. No, check that. It started prior to that when I was struggling to get my detective novels noticed by a mainstream publishing company…”
* * *
Two hours later, Meryl leaned over and switched off the tape recorder. Angie felt drained. She blinked a few times. White dots danced in front of her eyes from the camera flash of the photographer who Meryl had summoned. He’d told her to “keep talking as if I’m not here.” That was easy for her to do, especially since she couldn’t even see him, thanks to the dancing dots.
Angie took a sip from a bottle of water Wade had brought in during the interview. Meryl sat silent as a statue, which Angie interpreted to mean Meryl was dismissing her.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” Angie said. She rose to leave.
Meryl stood behind her desk.
Angie went to the door and waited, hoping Meryl would stop her. The statue remained mute. Angie turned to face Meryl. “What I did was wrong. But I was afraid I’d lose you if you didn’t have any leads in Key West. I thought you’d take off to New York, and I wouldn’t see you again.”
Still no response.
“That may sound far-fetched. But there it is. And yes, I was worried about my contract with Stanley & Schilling.” Angie looked away to gather her courage. “But, let me ask you something. If you hadn’t told me what you did the night before, would you have at least given me a chance to explain myself?” She met Meryl’s eyes.
“You’re trying to blame me now?” Meryl snapped.
“I simply asked a question. That must have been very difficult for you to relive what happened to you as a child.”
“That’s just it, Angie. You have no clue how it felt to spill my guts to you, thinking I could trust you.”
“Give me another chance,” Angie whispered.
“Because I felt like…” Meryl looked at her incredulously. “What did you say?”
“I asked you to give me another chance.”
“Right. Sure. Let me open myself up so you can stomp on my heart again.”
Angie drew one last drop of courage. “Meryl, I’m not your father.”
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