CHAPTER NINETEEN
“So I told my friend Joe...” Marie chewed and swallowed. “I told you about Joe, right?”
Tony nodded. “The good friend you want to get naked with.”
“Right. Anyway, I had a long talk with him last night and he and I decided it’s time to tell you everything.”
“You’re both secretly in love with me?”
“No.”
“Rats.”
Suddenly, it was very hard to look him in the eye. You’d think she was about to confess to murder. “The thing...the thing is...I’ve sort of...got...a publishing history. That is to say, I’ve...had some experience writing.”
“You—whaaaaaa?”
She glanced up and froze in surprise. Tony’s mouth was hanging open and he had dropped his napkin in his soup. He clutched his heart, rocked back in his chair—and toppled to the floor in spectacular fashion.
A few seconds passed as she sat, frozen
(call 911? fish the napkin out of his soup? ask for the bill?)
and then she saw a hand reach up, grope around, and grab the edge of the table. Tony hauled himself back in his seat, dabbing his forehead with his napkin.
“I’ll...I’ll be all right,” he gasped. “Just give me a minute. The news...such a shock...you deceived me, like a deceiver!”
She narrowed eyes. “Son of a bitch.”
He smirked at her. “May I have your autograph, Miss LeFleur? I’m just your biggest, biggest fan.”
“Oh my God.” She buried her face in her hands. “You knew.” I am mortified and angry. I am...mangry? “The whole time, you knew.”
“The whole time, I knew.”
“You let me make a fool of myself!”
“What, it’s my responsibility to prevent that from happening?”
Point. “Well...no...”
He’d plucked his drenched napkin from his bisque and laid it aside on his bread plate. “What was I supposed to do? Tell you I knew you were lying through your teeth?”
“I never lied about who I was. Marie is my real name.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie.”
She gnashed her teeth, but he was right. “So why play along?”
“It seemed to be something you needed to do. And I wanted to help you.”
Still shocked, and feeling more than a little foolish, she tried to get her mind around what he was telling her. He had known. And he had done nothing but help her. She had misled him and deceived him and he had helped her.
“How’d you know who I was? You’re not exactly in my demographic.”
“My mom’s a big fan. We stood in line for a while to get the new book signed. Incidentally, you’re much nicer when you’re not pretending to be a pretentious, chain-smoking, pseudo-intellectual.”
She sputtered wordlessly, trying to respond to pretentious, chain-smoking, and pseudo-intellectual at the same time. After a moment she gave up and shook her head. “All this time, you’ve been letting me run around in black, trying to smoke those gross cigarettes, reading the crap I’ve been—”
“Who told you it was crap? Where do you get these ideas about yourself? About your work? Don’t you know how great you are? Most of the time, I mean?”
She laughed suddenly; she couldn’t help it. “This was supposed to be my meeting. I was going to reveal myself as Jessica LeFruitbat, you were going to be revolted and kick me out, and I was going to go back to writing romance novels.”
“Now, as to going back to writing romance novels, sure, why not? You should do the things you’re good at—and take pride in them.”
“How uplifting. You should write fortune cookies.”
He gave her a look, and continued. “Why don’t you get yourself a new contract with your House, one that stipulates, say, two romances and one book in another genre? For that matter, why haven’t you tried it before?”
“It won’t work. I don’t have the talent for a literary novel.” She managed to say this without flinching. And was surprised at how easily the truth came. Strange that it didn’t hurt, admitting she was a failure. It should have hurt.
“So? Maybe it’s not your style. Write a children’s book. Write a mystery. Hell, write a book on writing. You’ve got a lot to teach.”
“There are other genres out there, aren’t there? Duh. Actually, a friend of mine reminded me of that very thing...that’s a good idea, Tony.”
“You mean I’m not as dim, as dull-witted as you thought I was? Did you know my knuckles don’t drag on the floor when I walk? Not since I had the operation, anyway...”
She snorted. “You’re insufferable.”
He stretched out in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Naw. I’m an agent. Speaking of which, how are you fixed for representation these days?”
“I’m my own agent. I fired mine after he tried to sign me to do six romances in two years.”
He dug in his breast pocket, pulled out his card, and handed it to her. “My card.”
She looked at it for a long time, thinking. “You knew. You even got me an appointment with your boss. And you didn’t tell her who I was.” She smiled. “We’re going to be great good friends, aren’t we?”
“At least.”
His cell phone burped, startling them both, and he said, “That’s my psychiatrist. You mind if I take this call?”
“Not at all. You’re in therapy?”
“Not exactly.”
Marie excused herself to the ladies while he took the call. “Carol! Where the hell have you been?”
“Tanning. Did you win the fair maiden?”
“Not yet.” “Carpe the diem , dude.”
“Working on it.”