Chapter 1
© Copyright 2000, 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne
"Print twelve hundred copies and have them distributed," Erica Caine switched her cell phone to her other ear as she hurried down the front steps toward the waiting limo. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she moved at a quick, clipped pace. Her hair was pulled into a loose twist at the back of her neck, the white linen suit an expensive designer piece picked out by her mother's assistant.
"We only have two weeks until the grand opening. Oh, and I've gone over the changes faxed to me about the Doristien building. I'll fax you the copy."
"What about your meeting with Dan Harmone?"
"I'll be there. I'm heading toward the airport now," she smiled at the chauffeur as she slipped inside and settled into the cushioned leather seat. He shut the door behind her. "Oh, and Miles? My mom's birthday is next week. If I can't get back, I bought the present. It's in my closet in my bedroom, card and everything. Would you send it?"
"You're a regular boy scout."
The limo pulled away from the curb with only a whisper from the engine and Erica, catching a rare moment of silence, leaned her head back against the leather cushion and closed her eyes.
* * * * *
"So you decided to show up today."
Jonathon Burtsin frowned as his publicist greeted him at the bookstore. Amy stood erect when she tried to admonish him.
Despite his easy going manner, she was one of the few that could make him wilt into his loafers. The trick was to never let her know it. She managed what he considered to be his other life better then he wanted to try.
Today it was a small corner shop on the edge of a busy thoroughfare, yesterday it had been a cardboard and paste national chain set up in the middle of a crowded mall.
His face was plastered on the front window, copies of his most recent book stacked on the tables surrounding the autographing area. It was another store, the same circus side show.
"I was there," he mumbled irritably, “just not, exactly on time. He'd decided to take a swim that morning and had stopped to watch the sunrise that peaked over the towering buildings. He missed the quiet privacy of his lakeside habitat, where birds called you to arms and the lake whispered it secrets to the shore.
It was strange how at one time he'd enjoyed the city, watching it come vibrant and alive. Today he felt closed in by the tall buildings and concrete earth.
The store owner locked the door behind him, turned and greeted him. Jonathon graciously shook his hand, glancing out the window toward the awakening street outside. People were already shuffling by; carting briefcases, drinking tall cups of store bought flavored coffee. The faint sound of traffic, wheels sliding on wet pavement, horns bleating, conversing, the shuffle of people moving, waking, going on with their day.
People fascinated him. He loved to sit back at a busy corner and watch, taking note of eccentricities, patterns, life—not getting involved, except for in his imagination.
And after a day or so of it, he would retire to his own space, and write about how those odd sides of their soul turned them into murderers.
* * * * *
The hotel dining room was littered with a mixture of high society patrons and rich tourists in their comfortable clothes. Dressed in another suit, this one of deep purple that highlighted her violet eyes, Erica slipped into the lobby to wait and settled into one of the cushioned sofas covered in a regal blue velvet.
A wall of mirrors captured the room in an array of sparkling color. People moved around, sat leisurely and talked, paced impatiently near the entrance.
The Victorian decor clashed with the modern clothes and cell phones perched on shoulders throughout the room..
She caught her image in the mirror, a solitary figure, out of place. She had pulled her hair into a professional French twist, and styled her makeup in subtle, neutral tones. There was nothing grand about her appearance, nothing overly styled.
She lowered her lashes and turned away, too tempted to practice goofy smiles in the mirror.
She'd assumed her role in life, she thought. Today she was in New York, tomorrow Boston. By Friday she would be in New Orleans enjoying a summer day on her mother's southern plantation-restored home, then on Saturday she would leave for Richmond.
She glanced at her hands, the nails sculpted into rounded French manicures. She stood five-ten in three inch heels, which would work well for tonight. The man she was meeting for her business dinner was former basketball star Dan Harmone, his cause, a tiny camp he wanted to build in southern Maine.
When Dan walked into the room, it was as if a gust of wind blew through as the ladies let out a sigh of surprise and appreciation. He was as popular with the females as he had been with his coaches at the height of his career. He was tall, with black hair cut short, shaved at the edges, and deep, almost soulful brown eyes that paid attention to you when you were talking.
Erica greeted him as she would every client. She reached for his hand as she met him mid way across the room, "Mr. Harmone."
"Dan," he admonished, raising her hand to drop a chaste kiss on her knuckles. "It's good to finally meet with you in person, Ms. Caine. Your mother has had plenty of good things to say about you."
"Erica, please. My mother, the Ms. Caine, runs the business."
"She also wants to see you married."
At her surprised blush, Dan laughed and lifted his arm toward the dining room. "Shall we eat?"
"Should I want to?" she asked, pressing a hand to her nervous stomach.
"If anyone knows how to stave off worried mothers, it's me. I'll have to tell you about my own sometime."
* * * * *
"I have to admit, I couldn't put your book down. I couldn’t get over your character, Miss. Carlarta. She seemed . . . so real," the news anchor sat across from Jonathon on a love seat. Her hair was cut short, kept in place by a crew of people who waited at the sides. She lifted her manicured hand, nails painted in a bright red to match the trim of her suit, "Where do you get your characters?"
Despite his public image his publicist had begged him to retain, he had settled on a comfortable pair of jeans and a nicer button down shirt for the interview. At some point, in the first few moments, he'd even leaned back, unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves with tight, succinct flicks of his wrist.
In the first few years of his popularity, he'd been hiding behind his image. He refused to do that, be like that, anymore.
Amy was going to pitch a fit.
He reclined in his cushy seat and smiled a sleepy, almost alluring grin. He'd learned a long time ago that the best way to get through an interview was to play the game. At times, he was closed-mouthed, secretive, a listener, because that was the game the interviewer wanted to play. At other times, he talked, playing to the audience and to the eyes of the other person. Today, he was going to romance the anchorwoman, to charm her into dizziness. Her eyes were a little too vibrant, eager.
"Human nature is moving around you everyday. The best way to capture reality is to pull from it. So I take out bits and pieces from the people I meet and some that I don't," he said simply, then leaned forward. He caught the look of surprise in her eyes, calculated his moves to manipulate her mind. He clasped his hands, shrugged a slight, almost innocent shrug. "In fact, I could be getting some ideas, right now, from you."
She laughed, a little off centered, and shook her head, as if to clear it, "So, is your next book is about a female news anchor?"
"My next book won't. I can guarantee that. It's coming out next December and is already moving through the publication process."
"Really?" She leaned forward slightly as if battling for control of the moment, matched his control with a lift of her eyebrow. "Just in time for Christmas shopping. What should we be looking for in this new book?"
Jonathon laughed good-naturedly and leaned back in his seat, shook his head. "Just more Burstin."
"Murder, action and justice?"
"Something like that."
HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!
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