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“I’m repressed, is what I am. I have two sex scenes to finish before the end of the month and nothing’s coming out.”
The wall of newspaper over at the kitchen table rattled. “What are you two talking about over there?” a muffled voice said.
“Nothing, dear.” Sonia flipped the sweet rolls out onto a plate and pulled them apart with forks.
“Hi Dad,” Ryan called.
Her father’s head appeared from behind the Boston Globe sports page. “Oh, hi honey. How’s Cambridge?”
“Fine, but my life as a writer is over.”
“That’s because you do those girlie books. I keep telling you, detective novels are the way to go. You get a nice gory murder, a tough cop, a psycho villain. It’ll sell a million and you can retire.”
“Sure Dad, next book,” she promised, tucking her tongue in her cheek.
“So you’re having problems with your latest?” Sonia asked, setting the platter of cinnamon rolls on the table.
“It’s my name,” Ryan said morosely. “I have a boy’s name. No wonder I can’t feel enough like a woman to get a lover.” She crossed to the cupboard and pulled out coffee mugs. “If I could remember how it felt to have sex, I could write about it,” she said reflectively, carrying the mugs over to the table.
“You know why I had to name you Ryan,” Sonia returned. “Your grandfather was on his deathbed. It was little enough to ask and we were just so sure you were going to be a boy. Anyway, you could have gone by your middle name.”
“Gladys?”
“I couldn’t help it,” her mother said defensively. “I could hardly tell your father’s mother no after giving you a name from my family.”
“Don’t bring me into it, I was just an innocent bystander,” said her father, rattling the sports page.
“You could have gone by a nickname,” Sonia pointed out, carrying over the coffeepot.
Ryan sighed. “By the time I was aware enough to do that the damage had been already done.” She picked at the sweet roll in front of her.
Her mother poured coffee into the mugs and set the pot on a trivet. “Sweetheart, you’re a wonderful writer. Just watch a couple of Mel Gibson movies to get in the mood and imagine the rest.”
“I tried that. Didn’t work.” She sipped the coffee, deciding not to tell her mother what else she’d done to try to get into the mood. Which had put her right smack in the mood for about five minutes. And to sleep for the rest of the night.
“Why don’t you ask someone to set you up with a fellow? Mrs. Seberg across the street has a single grandson.”
“It’s a long way from a blind date to between the sheets, Ma. My deadline’s in two weeks. What I need is a mental vision of a monumental lover.”
“I guess stag movies wouldn’t do it,” Sonia said reflectively, slipping onto a chair.
“Mother!” Scandalized, Ryan stared at her mother, then burst into laughter. “I can’t believe you just encouraged your daughter to go rent a dirty movie.”
Her father peered around his paper with interest. “She never told me to go see one.”
“Oh hush, you. You never needed one.” Sonia stirred her coffee, unflappable. “I’m just trying to help salvage Ryan’s career. Given that I ruined it to begin with.”
“Well, it’s a romance novel, not soft-core porn. I don’t think those movies will do it.” Ryan gulped the last of her coffee and leaned across the table to snag another roll. “Anyway, I have to get going. I just stopped in to lay the blame for my impending ruin at your door.”
“Always happy to help, dear.” Her mother followed her to the kitchen door. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, you’re such a wonderful writer, it will all be fine.” She pulled her close in a hug. “You’ll find the right fellow, too.”
“When’s that going to happen?” Ryan pulled back and looked at her soberly.
“When you stop running around looking so busy and overtaxed that any man who looks at you figures you have to be running to meet a date. When you make yourself available, you’ll find him.”
“But what if I don’t? I’m tired of looking. It’s easier to just forget about it.” Suddenly all the joking was gone, and in its place, an ache of loneliness so familiar that Ryan had almost stopped noticing it. Almost.
Sonia looked at her levelly. “You don’t really believe that or you wouldn’t be writing romance novels as a second career.”
“If I don’t meet this deadline, my second career is going to go up in a puff of dust and I’ll be forced to teach memo writing for the rest of my life,” Ryan said dolefully.
“You’ll do it, sweetheart, you’ll see. Everything will be fine.”
HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY be fine, Ryan wondered the next day as she sat in her office. She’d avoided thinking about her deadline for months, but now it was inescapable. For more than a decade, she’d dreamed of being a professional writer. Now, on the verge of making it a reality, she was going to blow it.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the display before picking up the receiver with resignation. “Hello, Helene.”
“Have they done the deed?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”
“No worries, kid. I’ve got an answer for you.” Helene was absolutely chuckling with good humor. This boded nothing good, Ryan thought.
“No blind dates, Helene, I told you.”
“This isn’t a blind date, honeybunch, at least not exactly. It’s just what you need.”
A stir of misgiving whirled in her stomach. “What, exactly, do I need?” Ryan asked carefully.
“Some quality sheet time with a guy who knows what he’s doing and knows how to drive you crazy.”
Ryan’s brows drew together. “Helene, you are not going to set me up with a one-night stand.”
“You’re right, I’m going to do something better,” said Helene, sounding far too pleased with herself for Ryan’s comfort. “You need inspiration and I can deliver. A girlfriend of mine knows an agency that supplies guys she says will make you see God.” She paused a moment. “In return for a token of your appreciation.”
Ryan’s jaw dropped “You’re not suggesting…” Her voice trailed off. What was going on with people? First her mother suggesting she watch dirty movies, then Helene trying to line her up with a…a… “You’re talking about a gigolo!” Her voice rose to a squeak on the last word.
“Not a gigolo, an escort.” Helene corrected. “A class act. Come on, you loved it when the society lady went to one in those Tales of the City books.”
Ryan closed her eyes and massaged her temples where a headache was rapidly forming.
“Think about it,” Helene continued, her lighter snapping in the background. “A guy who’s gonna focus only on making you feel good. You sit there, quiver in ecstasy all night long.” Ryan could hear her drawing on her cigarette. “You make mental notes for when you go back to the computer, and you write it all down in the morning.”
“I am not going to pay someone for sex,” Ryan said in outrage.
“Well, right now, it doesn’t seem like you’re going to get it any other way, kid, and until you do, this book’s not going to get written,” Helene said tartly.
Was the whole world going nuts? Ryan groped for words, not even knowing where to start. “You do fine on your own, why isn’t it okay for me?”
Helene’s voice softened. “Ryan, I’m a dried-up old broad. I had my run, and it was a good one. H.L., God rest his soul, left me with a bundle of wonderful memories.” She sighed a little. “But you, you’re gorgeous, you’re young. Enjoy it while you’ve got it. Get out and live a little.”
“By sleeping with a gigolo?”
“An escort. Why not? Think of the great story it would make for your grandkids.” Helene stopped. “When they’re grown, anyway. Better yet, think about the manuscript deadline. This baby’s gotta be good, Ryan.” Her voice sharpened with intensity. “You’ve gotten the chance, but you’ve got to convince that editor Elaine that you’ve got the goods or you lose the other three books in the series. You’ll be stuck in sweets, and you can’t make a living doing those.” She paused. “What you’re doing isn’t working. Why not try this?”
Ryan opened her mouth and nothing came out. She closed it slowly, considering. From nowhere, a rush of daring hit her. Why not try it, she thought, brushing a finger over her lips, shivering a little as the nerve endings woke up. What would it feel like to have a man kiss her? What would it feel like to have his naked body on top of hers, to have him inside her, thrusting in and out, his back muscles slippery with sweat beneath her fingers? To know what it was really like…
“…don’t you think?” Helene’s voice sounded in her ear.
“What did you say?” Ryan asked, shaking her head to dislodge the image.
“I said, it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
What did she think?
She thought it was scandalous.
She thought it was outrageous.
And as a sudden surge of recklessness came over her, she thought it could be just what she needed.
“Yes.” The word was out before she knew she was going to say it.
“Yes? Yes? You’re going to do it?” Helene’s voice rose in a whoop. “Yes! Now when? The sooner, the better to my mind.” Her voice fell into her staccato deal-making cadence. Details and plans were her passion. “Got plans for tomorrow? Mavis says she meets her guy in the lobby bar of the Copley Plaza Hotel. See? Class all the way.”
“I must be out of my mind to do this,” Ryan moaned.
“Don’t you dare back out,” Helene ordered. “This is exactly what you need. We’ll have to set you up with a room. I’ll take care of it, and get the key delivered to your office. All you have to do is walk upstairs with him and into bliss.”
“I should have my head examined.”
“I don’t know about examining your head,” Helene said with a wicked lilt to her voice, “but we’ll find you a guy who’ll play doctor with you to your heart’s content.”
“GENTLEMEN, IT WAS A pleasure doing business with you.” It was like a tribal ritual, Cade Douglas thought as he and his partner went around the conference table shaking hands with the members of the venture capital group that had just funded their start-up to the tune of $7 million. Even back in his days of wheeling and dealing at Shearson Lehman, in the end the deal came down to handshakes.
$7 million. He felt a surge of triumph. They had backers now, a group convinced that eTrain.com was more than a pipe dream. Backers who believed that they’d be a success, who believed enough to sink a small fortune into their ability to turn online education into money.
There was a whoop of jubilation somewhere down deep in his throat, but he contented himself with a wide smile as he and his partner, Patrick Wallace, walked out into the hotel corridor.
$7 million.
“I still think we should have them to the office while they’re here,” Patrick muttered. “That dial-up connection was pathetic. They can’t have any idea of what we’re trying to do.”
“Patrick, VC guys don’t care about the technology,” Cade said patiently. “They’re in town for an Internet conference. They don’t want to spend an hour driving out to Peabody. They just want the business plan.”
“I still think…”
“Patrick. Did we or did we not get the money?”
“We got the money,” Patrick said, a smile spreading across his face until it looked like it was going to crack. “Jesus, we just walked into a room and convinced five guys to give us seven million dollars.” He whooped and punched his fist in the air. “Yes!”
Cade pushed the elevator call button, the heady glow of the deal rushing through his veins. Eventually, the weight of responsibility would descend, but right now, life was good. Reflexively, he pulled out his cell phone to check messages. An instant later, he gave a muffled curse.
Patrick shot a wary glance at him as the elevator doors opened. “No problems right now, buddy, I’m feeling too good.”
“Nothing that you need to worry about,” Cade said briefly, punching the button for the hotel lobby. “A message from the darling Alyssa. She apparently heard that we were pitching the VCs today and wanted to remind me that she still hasn’t gotten the certificates on the stock options.”
“Ah, Alyssa. Everybody’s favorite ex-wife.”
Cade snorted. “Yeah, right.” Then he did a double take and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to hear it, Patrick.”
Patrick shook his head. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Skip it, Patrick.”
“She’s getting married again,” Patrick blurted.
Cade rolled his eyes. “Good for her. I don’t care.”
“It just bugs me, that’s all. She guts you and comes out of it smelling like a rose.”
“She didn’t gut me. We both knew it wasn’t right, practically on the honeymoon. Me getting off the Shearson Lehman gravy train to help start a dot-com just gave her the excuse she needed to make the break.” He shrugged. “I’m not happy about the money part of it, but the rest doesn’t matter.”
“Is that why all you ever do is work?” Patrick’s voice turned serious. “Don’t get me wrong. As your partner, I’m not complaining, but as your friend I worry. Where’s the guy of a thousand dates that I used to know? Hell, Cade, you don’t even look at a woman anymore. Why don’t you give yourself a break and at least get some kind of life going?”
Cade bit back temper. “Patrick, there are times I get home and even the people on the TV seem like they want too much from me. I don’t have the time and energy for doing the dance, okay?” The elevator doors opened and they walked out into the brightly lit marble lobby. “Besides, chemistry doesn’t last, that much I learned from Alyssa. Just give me a break.”
“Cade, it’s been four years since you guys divorced. I mean, forget about obligations, I’m just talking about a one night stand.”
Cade snorted. “That sounds like the cry of a married man who wants to live vicariously.”
“You’re going to get hair on your palms and go blind if you keep this up too much longer, buddy. And that’s going to turn the VC guys right off.”
“Patrick.”
“What about her?” he cocked his head as a curvaceous blonde in white passed them, then grinned to see Cade’s eyes following her. “Well, I’m glad to see that your gonads aren’t completely dead.”
Too reminiscent of Alyssa’s ice blond Beacon Hill debutante looks, Cade thought. The kind who would freeze you if you got too close. “Serve you right if I hauled you out on the town for a night of partying. See how much trouble I can get you in with Amy.” They stopped in front of the lobby bar, talking over the whisper of the fountain burbling in the center.
“I wish I could stop for a drink to celebrate, but I’ve got to get home. Amy’s got book club tonight. That shouldn’t stop you, though,” Patrick said, nodding toward a passing cocktail waitress carrying a tray laden with glasses.
Cade shook his head in mock remorse. “Tragic, what marriage does to a man.”
Patrick smiled and patted him on the back. “Just because I’m peeling out doesn’t mean you should. Hang around for a little while. Have a drink. Who knows, maybe in a couple minutes some gorgeous woman will show up out of the blue and come on to you.” He leaned in closer. “And if she does, do me a favor, buddy. Don’t question it, don’t ask why. Just go with it and let whatever happens, happen.”
Cade raised an eyebrow at him. “What the hell kind of advice is that?”
“Take it as a few words of wisdom from someone who knows a thing or two.” Patrick grinned. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
