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“Are you blaming my books for this?”
“Of course not. It’s only that stories with sexual violence in them will attract violent people. It appeals to the baser instincts.”
“Baser instincts? Violent people? My readers are housewives and college girls and a few straight guys who are trying way too hard to find out what women want in the bedroom. I don’t write for insane people. Is it Salinger’s fault that Mark David Chapman misread Catcher in the Rye?”
“That is not what I’m implying. But when you market yourself as a sex object, it can’t come as a shock when someone decides you can be bought.”
“Bought?” she scoffed and met Zach’s eyes. She looked at him so coldly he was almost afraid of her. “I can’t be bought, Zach. And even if I could I’m out of your price range.”
“Nora—” he said, trying to apologize.
Lex opened the door with Wesley right behind him. Nora raced across the room and ran straight into Wesley’s arms.
“You okay, kid?” She ran her hand over him as if checking him for injuries.
“I’m fine. The cops have him. He’s apparently a Bellevue resident off his meds.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Nah,” Wesley said. “He went down hard, fast and easy.”
“Sounds like one of my characters,” she said, wrapping her arms around Wesley.
Zach met Wesley’s eyes from across the room. His voice had been glib with Nora, but Zach could see the sheer panic written across the boy’s face.
“Come on. We’re going home,” Wesley said, letting Nora go.
“Home? That’s ridiculous. All those people are out there. We’ve got to finish the signing.”
“No, Nora.” Wesley’s voice was stern and intractable. For a moment Wesley seemed older than Nora. “We’ve got to give the cops a statement and then we’re going home. You can finish the signing when Lex gets some more security in here.” Lex voiced his agreement with Wesley, and Nora promised she’d reschedule as soon as possible.
“That guy didn’t hurt you, did he?” Wesley asked as he opened the door for Nora.
Nora stopped and looked back at Zach. Zach stomach’s flinched from the look of pure pain in Nora’s eyes.
“No worries, Wes. Just sticks and stones. It’s the words that hurt.”
13
Zach returned to his flat after the book-signing but found himself unable to concentrate on work. All he could do was replay Nora’s words in his head. “I can’t be bought, Zach…” It didn’t take long to realize how unconscionably he’d acted. A fan had attacked Nora, and he had blamed the victim.
He checked the time—still only five o’clock. He couldn’t spend the rest of the day agonizing over Nora. Racing from his building he made only one stop on the way to the train station. He stood on Nora’s porch trying to collect his words. He wanted to have them just right so when he said he was sorry she would know he meant it. But he knew something would change between them if he crossed her threshold for any other reason but her book. Zach took a step toward the door but it opened before he could knock. Wesley was standing there with a sardonic half smile on his face.
“Nora told me to let you in. She said you were starting to look a little cold.”
“May I see her please?”
Wesley took a step back and let Zach enter.
“In her office,” Wesley said. “She’s writing.”
Zach followed Wesley to the office and remembered how very different things were just three weeks ago. He’d come here determined to be rid of Nora and her book. Now here he was ready to beg for another chance to make their partnership work.
Before they reached the door to Nora’s office, Wesley stopped and turned to him.
“You know, your opinion means more to her than anything,” Wesley said. “I came home today after the signing and came pretty close to throwing up. She just went into her office and got back to work.”
Zach nodded, humbled by this nineteen-year-old child.
“I’ve come to apologize if she’ll let me.”
“She’ll let you. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she’ll let you.”
Wesley knocked on Nora’s office door and entered without waiting for her response.
“Nor? Got a minute?” Wesley asked. Nora was at her desk in black silk men’s style pajamas. Her hair was piled high on her head and held up with two ballpoint pens serving as chopsticks. She was typing away furiously, not even stopping to look at them.
“What are you still doing here, Wes? I thought you had something at church tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to help chaperone the middle school retreat this weekend,” Wesley said, walking around the desk to stand behind her chair. “But I’m not going to leave you alone after today—”
“Yes, you are. You just go and keep those kids from making out in the coat closet. Sexual repression must begin as early as possible. Go, Wes. You deserve a night off from my dramas.”
“Are you sure?” Wesley put his hands on Nora’s shoulders and tilted her chair back toward him. She leaned her head against his stomach and looked up at him.
“Yes. Go. Have fun. You’ve earned it.”
“If you let me go, I’m going to eat pizza,” he warned her and smiled down at her.
“One slice,” she said, raising her arm and waving her index finger in his face. “One.”
“What if it’s thin crust? That’s low carb.”
“Hmm…” Nora held up a second finger. “Two. But no more than two.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be home tomorrow morning. Zach?” Zach turned to face Wesley who was looking at him with determination. “You’ll keep an eye on Nora tonight, right?”
“Wes, I’m fine,” Nora said. “You were in the hospital last week. I have survived much scarier shit than what happened today.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t,” Wes said. He touched Nora’s shoulder and she laid her head briefly against his hand. Wesley’s touch and Nora’s response was light and chaste, but Zach felt he’d witnessed something very private between them. “I’ll see you later.”
“Be safe,” she said. “It may snow again tonight.”
Wesley left them alone and Nora returned to her typing. Zach didn’t wait for an invitation that was likely not forthcoming. He sat in the armchair across from her desk and watched her. He heard the house door open and close and Wesley’s car start and back out of the driveway.
“Nora, will you please look at me?”
“I can’t. I’m working. I’ve only got three weeks to get the last three hundred pages out of the gutter.”
“The rewrite is in fantastic shape. I think you’ve earned a night off, too,” Zach said.
Nora stopped typing. She swiveled in her chair to face him. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“Anything, of course.”
“My books,” she began, and Zach saw the bright shadow of a tear forming in her eyes turning them from black to green, “are the only thing I do that isn’t selling myself. No, it’s not even something I do—it’s what I am. And no one can buy that part of me. Not you, not Royal, not some psychotic asshole who thinks my books are letters written straight to him.”
“I’m sorry, Nora. I didn’t mean to blame you for that madman’s behavior today. I haven’t been scared like that in a long time. I just took my fear out on you since Wesley beat me to the person who actually deserved it.”
Nora stared past him and seemed to watch something only she could see. Whatever it was, it brought a faint, sad smile to her face.
“You know I didn’t start writing books until after I left S?ren. I could barely get out of bed that first month. I thought I was losing my mind. Some days I thought I was dying. I started creating worlds in my head, other people, other lives. I slipped out of my skin and into theirs, and while I was there I wasn’t grieving anymore. I was feeling what they were feeling. Writing resurrected me, Zach. Trust me, I know what it feels like to sell yourself. Writing my books is the opposite of selling myself. Do you believe that?”
Zach swallowed.
“Yes, I believe that.” He met her eyes.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re okay. I could have told you all this over the phone, you know.”
“I know. But you pegged me as a Scouser the day we met. So I thought I’d say ‘I’m sorry’ the way a Scouser does.”
“And how is that?”
Zach reached inside his trench coat and brought out a brown paper bag. From it he pulled a bottle of Irish whiskey and set it in front of her on her desk.
“Interesting,” she said eyeing the bottle.
“What is?”
Nora opened the bottom drawer of her desk and brought out two shot glasses and placed them next to the bottle.
“How much Catholics and Scousers have in common.”
Zach stared at her across her desk and suddenly found himself doing something he hadn’t done in a very long time—he laughed loudly and freely and it felt so foreign and wonderful that if he’d been braver, he might have kissed Nora right then and there.
Standing, Zach reached for the bottle. But Nora beat him to it. She held it in her hand and gave him the most dangerous smile he’d ever seen.
“Zach…let’s play a game.”
It took five minutes before Zach regretted coming to Nora’s.
“Truth or drink?” Zach asked as he shed his coat. “You will recall I’m in my forties.”
“There’s no age limit on alcohol-induced stupidity,” Nora countered. “And this is an easy game. I ask a question and either you answer it or you take a shot. Same rules for me. Whoever gets the drunkest loses, or wins, depending on your mood.”
“This game is hardly fair. You are far more forthcoming than any other person I’ve ever met.” Zach tossed his coat over the back of Nora’s armchair.
Nora leaned forward across her desk.
“Trust me, Easton. You’ve got secrets you want to keep. I’ve got secrets I have to keep. I think we’re pretty evenly matched here.”
“Is that so?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Let’s find out then.”
“Game on,” Nora said. “You go first.”
Zach knew his first question immediately. “I’ll ask you the question you didn’t answer today—who is, excuse me, was Ellie?”
“Ellie was me once upon a time. My mother and friends always called me Elle or Ellie. S?ren, being rather formal, calls me Eleanor. I was born Eleanor Schreiber.”
“A German Catholic then. This poor Jew is even more intimidated. So Nora Sutherlin is your pen name?”
“It’s the name I work under, yes,” she said, and Zach thought he saw a shadow of one of her secrets cross her face. “But that’s two questions. My turn—why did your wife leave you? Or was it you who left her?”
Zach leaned forward, poured his whiskey and took a shot. He swallowed a cough as the liquor burned his throat and stomach all the way down. He hadn’t done any hard drinking in a long time. He was afraid if he started he would never stop. Here with Nora he still felt as if he was at a funeral but now at least it was a jazz funeral.
“Fair enough,” Nora said. “Your turn.”
“On the subject of our respective exes, why did you leave your mysterious and formal S?ren?”
Nora seemed to think about it. She reached forward, poured her shot and downed it.
“S?ren’s off-limits,” she said. “More for his sake than mine. My turn to ask—are you going to sign my contract?”
“Honest answer, I don’t know.” Zach worried Nora would be hurt by his reticence. “It’s going well, better than I’d hoped. But there’s still a great deal of work to do on it. And I never know if I like a book until I’ve read the last page. The ending makes or breaks every book. I hope that doesn’t upset you.”
“Water off a drunk’s back.” Nora raised her shot glass to him in a salute. “Your turn.”
“Why is S?ren such a secret?”
Nora smirked at him and downed her whiskey without the hint of a cough or discomfort.
“You’re trying to get me drunk. I appreciate that. I will tell you this—I highly doubt S?ren is a secret for the same reason your wife, ex-wife, whatever, is.”
“Who is also off-limits.”
“Let’s forget wives then. How about lovers? Ever had a threesome?”
“There’s no warm-up here, is it? It’s just straight for the jugular.”
“I’m known for my directness, gorgeous. Answer or drink.”
“The answer,” Zach said, “is that I’m going to drink.”
Nora hooted with laughter.
“I’ll take that as a yes then,” she said as Zach swallowed hard and set his shot glass down with an emphatic clink.
