Another Notch in the Beltway (2 page)

“The admissions counselor at Georgetown asked if I wanted to help with the booth at the George School college fair, and I said sure. It should be fun.”

Nate was a graduate of GS, and he always liked to go back when he had time.

“That's great. I don't recall GS having a college fair when you were there.”

“No, we didn't. The college reps would come and talk to anyone who was interested in the school. I think the fair makes sense so students can see a number of prospective schools. They might find they're interested in one they never considered before.”

“I agree. Maybe you should go into college admissions instead of law.”

“Law is a good springboard for anything, Mom. I don't even know that I'll ever practice law.”

She nodded, ruffling his deep brown hair. “Whatever you do, you'll be great.”

“You're my mom; you have to say that.”

“No, I don't, but I mean it. Do you have time for dinner?”

“I'll grab something at the Hoagie Shack on the way over, but I'll let you make me waffles tomorrow morning.”

“Chocolate, chocolate chip?”

“You're the best, Mom.”

“You're my son; you have to say that.”

Nikko Martenstein was lunching at Lenore's house the following Wednesday. It was their habit to trade lunch spots; the next one would be in New York City. It got each of them out of their respective habitats. The women were eating in Lenore's sunroom; despite the cool day, the room was warm and bright. The sunny appearance was enhanced by vibrant yellow, overstuffed cushions that graced Victorian-style wicker.

“Lenore, it's great to be here; maybe I'll move.” Nikko always called her Lenore unless they were at an industry function, book signing, or other professional endeavor. She once told Lenore that LaSandra Lacy sounded like an aged whore who dressed in fuchsia spandex, crotchless panties, and feathered stiletto mules. They'd both gotten a good laugh out of the visual.

“You'd be bored after a while, Nik. I've known you long enough to know you need the excitement of the city.”

“Maybe, but since Howard's death, it's not been the same.” Howard was the first Martenstein of Martenstein, Martenstein and Hubble. They had been married for twenty years, and Howard was twenty years her senior. Even so, he was only sixty when he dropped dead of a heart attack a little over a year ago. They met when Nikko was his college intern and fell in love.

Lenore had always thought that Nikko's internship romance had a much better outcome than hers, but as the years went by, she wasn't so sure. At least she had Nate. Nikko and Howard never had children and now Nik was all alone.

“Come down and spend a few days; in fact, stay now if you want. The guest room is always ready. It has its own bath so you'd have privacy.”

“Can't. I've got meetings, my clients, and Howard's that don't want Hubble.”

“When things calm down then. How is Hubble working out?”

Hubble was Nolan Hubble; he had joined M&M as a partner shortly before Howard died. He came from a large agency and had his own clients to bring to M&M. Lenore had met him several times and had found him friendly, witty, and attractive.

“Great, it's the writers; they're the temperamental ones,” Nikko teased.

“Speaking as a writer, if, God forbid, something happened to you and I needed a new agent, I'd be a bit shell-shocked myself.”

Nikko nodded. “I know that's why Nolan and I decided that once we hire another agent, we'll have a meet and greet and then do it at least annually so that, should anything ever happen to one of us, our clients have at least a passing relationship with the other agents.”

“That's a great idea, but I still want you for my agent,” Lenore said in a mock whine of a temperamental author.

Her friend laughed.

“Lunch, as always, is wonderful. This sorbet is to die for.”

Lenore had made poached salmon salad for lunch and raspberry sorbet for dessert. The two friends were sipping Paul Hobbs Chardonnay. It was cool and crisp, making a great pairing to the salad. Lenore liked to cook and didn't often get the chance, especially since Nate had gone off to college.

“Thanks.”

After lunch, they got down to business.

“Addy tells me you're bored with Victorian romance and need a change,” Nikko said.

Lenore nodded.

“Do you want to abandon Victorian romance altogether or merely throw something new into the mix?”

“I don't think I could ever abandon it. Contrary to the way I carried on to Addy the other day, I realize I have a following, and they've been loyal to me, so I will continue to write VR for the foreseeable future. I want to do something else along with it.”

“That's a relief. The way Addy sounded the other day, I thought I'd need to talk you off a ledge.”

“I did lay it on pretty thick. Addy is so literal I sometimes go out of my way to antagonize her.”

“Like suggesting a pink vibrator tucked into your retrospective gift pack?” Nikko smiled, merriment dancing in her eyes.

“Exactly, although I do think I may do a series of books about widows: young, old, in-between, and the many uses of a widow's comforter, as they used to call it, to stave off loneliness or the desire to feel the engorged organ of a new suitor between her creamy thighs.”

Nikki was laughing unrestrainedly now. “God, Lenore, stop.”

“What? They were used by Victorian women to pleasure themselves, a precursor of the vibrator, if you will, but the term dildo, believe it or not, was a euphemism used at the time.”

Her friend kept laughing and shaking her head. “Enough,” Nikko said. “What do you want to write?”

“A witty, sexy romance with a strong independent female and an equally matched male.”

“Chick lit?'

“I'm not sure I'm quite there, but I suppose.”

“Would you consider working with another writer?”

Lenore cocked her head. “I never have, and I guess I never thought about it.”

“How about a male co-author?”

“Tell me more. I'm interested in hearing what you have to say.”

“You know MP Finnegan?”

“Michael Patrick, right?”

“Did you already know?”

“Wild guess with a name like Finnegan.”

“I suppose.” Nikko eyed her dubiously.

“Really, I haven't even read any of the man's work.”

“That's surprising, too, but he wants to come out as a man and thinks it would help if he were paired with a well-recognized female author.”

“He wants to come out as a man? What was he before, a really big ferret?”

Her agent was laughing again. “Lenore, please be serious for a minute. You know a lot of male romance writers only use their initials or gender-neutral names. Heck, some even take on a totally female persona for their pseudonym.”

“You mean Lisa Marie Rice is a man, not a woman?” Lenore asked. “That's why all the guys hate oral sex until they meet that special chick.”

“I don't know if Lisa Marie Rice is a he, she, or it. I'm trying to talk about MP.”

“Got it. Michael Patrick wants to come out as a man and co-author a book with a known female romance writer. In this case, me. How does he feel about that? From what little I know of him, he writes contemporary romance.”

“I haven't asked him yet; I figured I'd talk to you before I say anything to him. Plus, I need to see if your publisher would even consider it.”

Lenore was silent, then said, “Do your thing. Talk to Finnegan and the publisher. In the meantime, I'll read a few of his books over the next couple of days and get back to you, but yes, I'm interested.”

“Good.”

That settled, they went on to talk about other industry happenings.

Lenore purchased three of MP Finnegan's books. They were edgy and fast paced both in and out of bed. Even without knowing MP was Michael Patrick, she would have guessed the writer was male by the heavy usage of cock, pussy, cunt, and fuck. Not that female writers didn't use those words as well, but male writers tended to use them literally and almost exclusively. Plus, there were lines like, “She took his cock deeply in her throat and sucked him with the proficiency of a well-practiced whore. Marisa didn't even flinch when he came full throttle, hot and thick in her mouth. When he finished, she looked at him vapidly and licked him clean, savoring every drop of his cum.”

LaSandra Lacy would have written something more like, “Genevieve took his swollen, pulsing manhood in her bee-stung lips and suckled him hungrily. Before he came, he pulled her to him and whispered huskily, ‘Evie, I want to be inside you, make love to you.'”

But was it male versus female or contemporary versus historic? She'd have to think about that some more.

MP stopped before what she called the squirm factor. Meaning the point where one might start to feel oneself flushed, wet, and overtly sexually aroused to the point of needing release. Some of the good erotic writers had left her feeling that way. Yeah, she thought wistfully, recalling some of those scenes were about the only way she'd come with John Irving.

Maybe that could be the plot line of a new book, getting rid of Mr. Gray and meeting Mr. Makes Me Squirm. She laughed. It would be great fun to write something truly visceral. Lenore liked the idea. It had potential.

She'd told Nikko that she'd have an answer for her today. Throwing caution to the wind, she decided to do it. “La Sandra Lacy and MP Finnegan team up to write… Write what? I guess that is to be determined,” she answered herself, picking up the phone.

Between Lenore's schedule, MP's, and Nikko's, it was three weeks before they could finally meet. In that time, she'd read all eight of Finnegan's books and a number of other contemporary and erotic romances.

When she was done, she had decided two things: MP's writing was decidedly male, and there was a fine line between the squirm factor and the yuck factor.

Lenore also thought she'd prefer to do a contemporary romance that bordered on erotic but wasn't quite there. Of course, she would need to collaborate with MP on that. She was looking forward to meeting him. She wondered what he looked like. In her experience, Irish men came in two molds. The first was short, round, and full of blarney, and the second was tall, ruggedly handsome, and full of intensity, with or without the blarney thrown in. She didn't need any blarney in her life.

They were having lunch at Michael's, a well-known New York City restaurant for agents and writers. Lenore was the first to arrive and sat so she could see the incoming patrons. Nikko joined her a few minutes later.

“What's MP like?” Lenore asked, shifting in her seat to look at Nikko.

“I'm not going to tell you. I want you to form your own impression. I will tell you he's very handsome: tall, dark wavy hair, blue eyes, easy to look at.”

“You have a thing for him or with him?”

“Heavens, no,” Nik snorted a laugh. “First of all, he's my client; second, he's not my type; and third, without sounding too un-PC, he's not Jewish.”

“I didn't think you even practiced your faith.”

“I don't, it's an ingrained cultural thing. Plus, Jews tolerate one another's idiosyncrasies better than non-Jews.”

“Okay,” Lenore said, raising her eyebrows, still amused.

“We are a strange lot, Lenore.”

“No stranger than Catholics.”

“Well, both religions are seemingly founded on guilt,” Nikko mused.

The women laughed.

With that, Lenore saw an extremely attractive man approaching the table. He smiled and kissed Nikko on the cheek.

“Michael Patrick Finnegan,” he said extending his hand.

“Lenore Held.” She took his proffered hand.

“Sure and I'm delighted to meet you.” He continued looking her directly in the eyes, smiling like he meant it and holding her hand a beat too long in a warm, strong embrace.

A charmer. Lenore had met several over the years, recalling one more clearly than all the others, her son's father. She'd need to guard her heart and her chastity, VR speak, from this man. Nonetheless, he was intriguing.

MP sat, still beaming a high-wattage smile at the women. He spoke with a lyrical accent to boot. “I'm the luckiest man here today, having lunch with two lovely lasses such as yourselves.”

“Cut the crap, Michael Patrick,” Nikko said. Then she turned to Lenore. “This guy is full of Irish bullshit; watch him.”

“Count on it.”

They ordered lunch and got down to business.

Nikko started, “MP wants to write a book with a well-known female romance writer to come out of the closet—”

“I don't think you need to put it quite that way,” Finnegan interrupted.

“Of course I do; it makes it seem more sordid and noteworthy,” she cut back in. “And Lenore wants to do a contemporary romance, hot and steamy bordering on erotica or, as she calls it, the squirm factor.”

Michael Patrick looked directly at Lenore with expressively raised eyebrows. “Is that so?”

Lenore maintained eye contact, managed not to blush, and nodded.

“And might I ask, lass, what the squirm factor is?” He asked a touch of amusement playing on his full mouth.

“If you have to ask—” Lenore started.

“She'll tell you in a more appropriate setting,” Nikki said, cutting her off. Which was fine because she didn't want to explain anyway.

Finnegan continued to smile. “I think I'd enjoy working with you, lass.”

Dimples, too, Lenore thought. Quite a package.

Their agent continued, “I've talked to the publisher and they'd consider looking at a collaborative work, only because you two are so well known and have popular appeal. But they want to see several sample chapters before they make any commitments. Do you think such a collaboration could work?”