4 Four Play (19 page)

“Fantastical! Fantastical! You can schedule a book signing there! With Roslynn, too! Adelé’s fans would love, love, love that! What a goldmine!”

“Louise!” I shouted, and Snowflake again disappeared under the bed. “The man who owns this supposed goldmine wants to ban my books. Ban books!” I repeated the phrase three times, Geez-Louise style. “This is bad,” I said. “Bad, bad, bad.”

“As if!” she said, and I got up in search of an Advil. “The book-banning scheme is brilliant,” she insisted. “Your local sales are proof positive.”

I filled a glass at the bathroom sink. “You put Roslynn up to this, didn’t you?”

Louise was silent—a silence that spoke the proverbial volumes.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. “You told her—you ordered her—to start that ridiculous counter-demonstration outside my front door, didn’t you?”

More uncharacteristic silence.

“Answer me!” I said. “Whose idea was it?”

Louise hesitated yet again. “It wasn’t like she wasn’t willing,” she mumbled.

“Louise!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said. “You need to calm down, Jessica. You are so excitable!”

I swallowed two Advils and endeavored to remain un-excitable while Louise explained. Apparently Roslynn had reported in with her after leaving my place on Sunday. And apparently this counter-demonstration idea had come to Louise at the spur of the moment.

“You know what I always say, Jessica! Let’s make lemonade out of lemons? And soooo.”

“And so, I think I need to sit down.” I went back to my bed while Louise spouted off about the lemonade.

“And so,” she said, “I told Roslynn to gather up some friends and start the pro-romance demonstration. We spent some time discussing the color scheme, slogans, dance steps, et cetera, et cetera. And you can see for yourself how fantastically it’s working! Both of you are cleaning up with your local sales. And, and, and!” Louise began hyperventilating. “It’s not just local! Because, guess what?”

“Earth to Louise,” I said. “I don’t have to guess. Jimmy Beak announced it on the morning news.”

“Fantastical! I love, love, love Timmy Beaky! That man is the best thing to ever happen to your career! We worked together just like we did when you were accused of murder last summer. Remember that?”

“Who could forget?” I asked, but Louise was still talking—something about Dee Dee Larkin.

“Dee Dee promised me she’d include this latest story tonight! Adelé Nightingale receives national coverage once again! Is that not perfectly fantastical!?”

“What if Adelé doesn’t want national coverage?”

“As if! And besides, it’s three against one—Timmy Beaky, Roslynn, and I all want this for you! You can’t argue with that logic, Jessica!”

No, actually. I really couldn’t.

I gave up and did some deep breathing while Louise shouted “national coverage” a few thousand times.

“And you know,” she sang in a completely different tone.

“What do I know?”

“I don’t see how 3P can fire you now.”

I sat up straight. “Speaking of which. Why haven’t you mentioned what’s going on with Perpetual Pleasures Press before now? Why did I have to hear this news of my impending unemployment from Roslynn? It was humiliating!”

“Calm, Jessica. Stay calm.”

I considered taking another pill as my agent admonished me not to worry. “All is well,” she said in what I think was meant to be a soothing tone. “Or all will be well once 3P sees your latest sales figures!”

“You should have warned me they’re thinking of dumping me.”

“No,” she said firmly. “That’s what you pay me for—to worry about 3P. You do the writing, I do the business. Remember?”

I did. And as much as I complain about her, Geez Louise Urko is the best literary agent a romance author could ask for. She is, in a word, fantastical.

“But I still want to know what’s happening with my contract,” I said.

“Nothing! No changes! Just get me
A Singular Seduction
filled, filled, filled with sex scenes and all will be well. Weller than well! Now then,” she said. “What’s the latest with Kipp Jupiter and Willow LaSwann?”

I told her the latest. I expected some input, but the other end of the phone offered only silence. Something akin to dead silence.

“Well?” I prompted. “What do you think?”

More dead silence.

“Louise?”

“Don’t worry,” she said eventually. “I won’t tell the folks at 3P about this.”

“About what?” I asked indignantly. “This is good news.
A Singular Seduction
is finally moving forward.”

“But Jessica! You have your hero calling your heroine a pig!”

Chapter 25

Snowflake emerged from her hiding place and glared.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Maybe the LeSwine thing isn’t Adelé’s best idea ever.”

The cat glared some more.

“But let’s keep things in perspective, shall we? The good news of that conversation?” I pointed to the phone I had thrown across room. “Clearly, Louise is not the murderer. She’s insane.” I went to pick up the phone. “But she’s not violent.”

I frowned at the phone, but bless her heart, Snowflake forgave me for my outburst. She sauntered over, and we sat down at the desk to assess the damage. I checked for a dial tone.

“It still works.” I frowned some more. “Unlike yours truly.”

Snowflake nudged my hand, and I petted her absently while I studied the crowd below. Was anyone down there violent, I asked myself.

By then Roslynn Mayweather and the pastel people had perfected their Romance-Rockettes routine and were dancing up a synchronized storm. The book-banning gang also seemed reinvigorated, perhaps because their leader had returned. Alistair Amesworth Pritt was back from who knows where and was waving his poster around with more vehemence than ever. And the ubiquitous Jimmy Beak flitted from one group to the other, his energy level making everyone else look positively lethargic.

I recollected Wilson’s parting request that morning. I was to march down there and act crazy. And if my behavior toward my poor telephone was any indication, I was in a crazy mood.

I stepped away from the window in search of my key to Candy’s condo.

“Believe it or not, I actually have a plan,” I told Snowflake as I rummaged through my junk drawer. “Puddles is going to help me orchestrate this little showdown.”

Snowflake scowled.

“No, really,” I said. “Puddles is just the ticket.”

***

“We’ll tackle Roslynn first,” I told the dog as I grabbed his leash.

Puddles yipped enthusiastically and licked my nose while I got the leash on him. Whether or not Snowflake approved, clearly the little poodle was game to assist me. And I was sure Candy wouldn’t mind me borrowing her dog. Puddles is always in need of an extra walk. Indeed, some might consider the amount of piddle in Puddles downright legendary.

“Hold it until I say when,” I told him, and we rushed down the stairs and out the front door.

Never one to disappoint, Jimmy Beak saw us immediately. He sprang directly into our path, but I was ready.

“Back off, Beak.” I used my nastiest, angriest, craziest voice, curled my lip, and added a snarl for good measure. Wilson would have been proud of me. And of Puddles. The little dog remembered his end of the bargain, lifted his leg, and aimed. Lo and behold, Jimmy backed off.

I praised Puddles for his perfect timing, and we headed over to Roslynn.

“Jessie!” She seemed genuinely pleased to see me. “And Puddles! I’m so happy you guys are joining us.” Roslynn waved to one of her cronies. “Go get Jessie a poster from my car, Nora.”

“No, no.” I held up a hand and told Nora to never mind. Then I turned back to Roslynn and asked her to take a break. “We need to talk.”

“No can do! But you’re welcome to march with me. We can talk and walk.” She got back into formation with the pastel people, and for want of a better solution, Puddles and I joined her.

“What did you think?” Roslynn asked as we stepped in time. “How did I look? More importantly, how did my book look?”

“Excuse me?”

“On TV last night.” She tilted her poster toward the cameraman, who hovered back near Jimmy. “I’m so happy he got a few more close ups of
The Sultan’s Secret
. How did the sultan look? Oh! And I read an excerpt from
The Debutante’s Destiny
. Did you hear? How did the debutante sound?”

“Whatever happened to Jimmy Beak being inconsequential nonsense?” I asked.

“Inconsequential? Are you kidding?” She jiggled her poster up and down. “Have you talked to Geez Louise lately?”

I groaned in answer and made an effort to twirl in time with the rest of the Rockettes. Even attached to his leash, Puddles was better at it than I was.

“Think about our sales figures,” Roslynn was saying. “Lemonade out of lemons!”

She stopped and held a hand up, and the pastel people stopped to listen to their leader. Needless to say, Puddles and I stopped, too.

Roslynn reached over and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Let’s show her majesty the Queen of Smut how much we appreciate her, ladies!”

And I kid you not, the pastel people paraded past and bowed, one by one, in honor of yours truly. Meanwhile Roslynn regaled me with our latest sales figures, spouting off phrases like “Skyrocketing sales!” and “National attention!”

Somewhere in there I lost my patience. I looked down at Puddles and asked if he wouldn’t like to piddle on the closest pink pump, and Roslynn finally got the hint. She handed her poster to Nora and allowed me to guide her a few steps away from the other demonstrators.

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” She kept a wary eye on the dog. “I mean, if it isn’t our book sales?”

I, too, focused on Puddles and wondered how exactly I should broach the subject of Miriam Jilton’s murder.

It’s not like I could point blank ask Roslynn if she had murdered a completely random person, so that Jimmy Beak would accuse me of murder, so as to draw negative attention to me, so that Geez Louise would have adequate reason to get me on Dee Dee Larkin’s program, so that my book sales would skyrocket, so that Roslynn’s book sales would skyrocket, so that—

“Jessie?” Roslynn waited until I looked up. “What’s the matter?”

I took a deep breath. “If I ask you a question, will you promise not to hold it against me? Even after you’ve figured out why I asked it?”

“You can ask me anything,” she said sincerely. “You’re my hero, Jessie.”

I asked her not to make me feel any worse than I already did and then blurted it out. “Where were you Saturday night?”

Roslynn grimaced. “Candy told you, didn’t she? I know I shouldn’t have done it, okay? And I know I should have broken it off long before now. But he needed to talk, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to meet him in a public place. So we met at a little diner on the outskirts of town. This dump called Hastie’s Diner. And I swear, it really is over and done with now. Completely and totally.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Billy Joe.”

“Bill Joe Dent!?” I shouted. I looked around, hoping Jimmy and Alistair hadn’t heard me.

Luckily, they had not, since the two of them were in some sort of heated debate. Alistair kept pointing to me and saying something to Jimmy. And Jimmy kept pointing to Puddles and saying something to Alistair.

Roslynn was saying something to me. “I was with Billy Joe on Saturday. I mentioned it to Candy yesterday. And don’t worry—she’s already scolded me for being so stupid. So you don’t need to bother, okay?”

I told Roslynn her love life was none of my business. “Although seeing a married man is bound to end badly for everyone.” I shrugged. “If you’re looking for any sort of happily ever after, you need to look elsewhere.”

“I’m working on it. But what about you?”

“Don’t you dare ask me about my wedding.”

“No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m wondering about Willow and Kipp. Have you gotten them to the happily ever after?”

“Not hardly.” I summarized my latest effort, and Roslynn gasped accordingly.

“Yep,” I said. “I now have my hero calling my heroine a pig. Brilliant, no?”

And speaking of swine. Jimmy and Alistair were on the move and headed our way, with Joe the cameraman and several of the book-banning brigade in close pursuit. A veritable herd of swine. Some with bullhorns attached.

I pointed Roslynn back to the pastel people, adopted a demeanor which I hoped conveyed crazy, and stood my ground.

Puddles looked up at me for instruction, and I told him to pee whenever the mood struck.

***

I yanked the bullhorn from of Jimmy’s startled hands and plunged on into my performance. “I’m trying to write up there!” I pointed my free hand to my third floor windows. “I have a job to do! I can’t concentrate! You’re ruining my career! You’re destroying Adelé Nightinga—”

I put the megaphone down and blinked at the camera. The crazy-lady act was, perhaps, a bit too easy?

Speaking of crazy. Jimmy procured another bullhorn and launched into his own act, spouting off the typical nonsense about the public having a right to know.

I ignored him and leveled my bullhorn at Alistair. “I haven’t written a decent sex scene in days! Days, I tell you!” I may have exaggerated my distress, but at the same time, I neglected to admit it had actually been months since Adelé Nightingale added a decent sex scene to her repertoire.

Alistair jabbed his poster upward. “Well then!” he snapped at me. “Get back up there and get to work, Miss Queen of Smut! You have sex scenes to write!”

“Huh?”

I looked at Jimmy, but he seemed as confused as I. Was Alistair actually encouraging me to write sex scenes? The man might as well have been channeling Geez Louise herself.

A slow smile made its way across my face as I suddenly understood the logic of Alistair Amesworth Pritt. He’d be having no fun at all if it weren’t for Adelé Nightingale.

“Look at her, Jimmy!” he bellowed. “She’s thinking about sex!”

I raised my megaphone. “I’m not thinking about sex,” I announced to the crowd. “I’m thinking about writing children’s books.”

Well, that certainly got a reaction.

Alistair dropped his poster, Jimmy dropped his bullhorn, Joe fumbled his camera, the synchronized step Roslynn and her cronies were executing ended in an all-out collision, and Puddles shook himself all over and snorted.