Writing Mr. Right (12 page)

Samantha snatched another glass of wine from the tray as it went by. “I’m getting nothing when Dad dies, you know this? I need to pass this fucking exam.”

Georgia chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you when you bomb.”

“Damn it! Not fucking helpful.”

She sipped again, glancing around the room as though preparing to fill Georgia in on some conspiracy. “I shouldn’t be worried though, right? I mean, you remember what Nana said, when she did our cards that last time, right?”

Georgia sighed. She remembered.

“Use our words, she said. Right? And so far, it’s absolutely fucking working for you. I mean, look at you,” Sam said, gesturing at her as though Georgia wore a diamond tiara.

It was true. Words were serving Georgia very well, indeed.

“And I’m going into arguing for a damn living, so wouldn’t that be words, too?”

“I think so.”

Sam pursed her lips. “So there you go. It’s all gonna be fine.”

They stood silent a moment, Sam reveling in feigned confidence. Georgia scanned the unfamiliar faces of the room, then exhaled out her nose. “Well, Nana did once tell me I’d already met my soul mate, and that didn’t turn out all that great.”

Sam glared at her. “Fuck you, Gigi. Did I really need that? And hey, you don’t know. You’re the one who thought she meant that thunderfuck from Minnesota or wherever he was from.”

“Well, who the hell else could she have meant?”

Sam shook her head. “God, I hated that guy. Hey, did you ever hear back from uh - Mr. MacCready over there in Sco-”

“Georgia? Can you come in here for a minute please?”

They turned to find Stephanie standing in the doorway to the study, her hand out as though waiting for Georgia to take it on the first day of kindergarten.

Sam chugged the last of her second glass of wine before setting it on the tray beside her. “I hate that lady.”

Georgia glanced back at her as she followed her stepmother into the den.

The study was packed with various figures from her father’s life. Some old friends she knew before her mother, Diana, passed, but many were from this new life of his – the one he made with Stephanie. Georgia wasn’t enormously fond of this new life.

“Everyone, this is Georgia, my New York Times Bestselling daughter.”

The guests all gave polite little Ooohs and Aaahs, a couple even clapped. Georgia just stood by the end of the couch, waiting to be released from this torture.

An older woman leaned into the arm of the couch toward her. “Tell us, what have you written?”

Georgia glanced down at the unknown woman, took a hard swig of her glass of wine and smiled. “I write smut, my dear. Dirty, filthy smut.”

Truman just laughed. “Smut or no, this woman is currently holding the top two slots on the Bestseller list!”

The guests all doubled the intensity of their oohing.

Truman leaned into her, smiling. “Can I tell them?”

Georgia glanced back at Sam, making a pained face. “I suppose.”

Truman opened his arms wide. “And as of this morning, they’ve sold the film rights to all three novels! My little girl’s gonna be a Hollywood big wig.”

Georgia offered an awkward smile in response to the reception. She didn’t do well with public proclamations like this. It was one thing to read in front of a crowd of people who lined up to hear her; it was something very different to stand in front of the same people who called the cops on her when she played music too loud as a teenager.

A few of them grabbed her attention, asking little details – did she know what actors were involved, would she be involved, how much did she make? Truman overheard some of the questions, and took over for Georgia, knowing her too polite to shut a person down for asking after her finances.

“And this girl, if you know her at all, didn’t sell easy. Gave em one hell of a run.”

Accurate. Georgia said no for almost six months before the offer was too good to refuse. Clearly seeing the second book’s release inspired them to sweeten the pot.

“Reminds me of the first time she set foot in Scotland, wouldn’t you say, Sam?”

Georgia and Sam both groaned. “Oh god, Dad. What kind of segue was that?”

“Don’t. Don’t do it, Dad,” Sam said, shaking her head into her third glass of wine.

Truman ignored them both and broke out into his favorite story to tell about a young Georgia Kilduff.

We took the girls, Diana and I, to Edinburgh when they were very young. Georgia was eight, I believe, and Sam was four. We went in August, which is the time of year when they have their big celebrations – the fireworks and the tattoo. Men in kilts and full uniform, marching and piping away outside the castle. Well naturally, we had to see it. So we trudge our way up to the Castle, making our way through the crowds. Well, as we’re getting close, Diana turns around, and Georgia’s gone. Disappeared.

“Great parenting, clearly,” Sam said, hushed so only Georgia could hear her.

She naturally begins to panic, and the two of us cart poor Sam around, calling Georgia’s name over the crowd. Took us fifteen minutes to find her. Georgia here is tucked into a corner of a building on the Royal Mile, comforting this wailing little Scottish boy. So, I’m ready to scold her for running off, but Diana is just ecstatic to find her, so she runs over and starts giving hugs and kisses.

Georgia took a deep breath, willing herself patient. This was the fortieth time she’d heard this story told.

Turns out this little boy has lost his parents, and is absolutely beside himself, tears streaming down his face. And Georgia is comforting him, of course. Tells him she’ll wait with him until his Daddy comes, that everything is going to be ok. Now, I understand why she ran away, but before I can get to her to explain that running off wasn’t the best way to handle the situation, this friendly policeman arrives.

Sam leaned it. “You can tell this is his favorite part.”

He comes over to her and this little boy, offers to help him find his parents. The policeman tries to take the boy’s hand from Georgia, and the poor kid blows a gasket. Wailing in abject terror, clinging to Georgia for dear life. Of course, policeman is just trying to do his job, so he tries again to grab the kid. Georgia is trying to explain to this man, ‘He can’t leave. We have to stay in one place. He can’t leave,’ as this poor little boy is just screaming. Finally, the police officer loses his patience, grabs the kid by the wrist and starts pulling him off of Georgia. Well, Georgia hauled out and kicked that cop in the shin so hard, it nearly brought him to the ground.

Georgia groaned. “I didn’t kick him.”

No one was listening to her. Her father knew how to command a room, and he loved to do it with this very story.

Now, the little boy’s father appear and a second later, he’s thanked us and carted his traumatized child down the Royal Mile and out of sight. I start trying to smooth things over with this poor policeman, but I swear - if she’d been any older, he might’ve carted her to Scottish jail. I do my best to smooth things over with the policeman, all while Georgia continues to glare at the poor bastard. I think he was afraid she’d come back for more.

He paused to let the room laugh.

Oddly enough, she’s been in love with Scotland ever since.

The room gave their polite smiles, and chided her gently as she moved along the far wall, making her escape with Sam at her side. Truman would hold court for another fifteen minutes before he noticed they were gone.

“Christ, do I get more evil every time he tells that story?”

Sam gestured for the door and they snuck outside so she could smoke a cigarette. “Seriously. One of these days he’ll say you pulled out a shiv and shanked the poor fucker.”

Georgia stood by the azaleas, scanning the driveway full of Beemers and Mercedes. “Jesus, when did he get like this?”

Sam took a puff on her cigarette. “When mom died. Or more so, when Stephanie happened.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, Sam puffing her cigarette idly.

“So you never heard from that Scottish guy?”

Georgia frowned. “No. It’s ok, though.”

“Is it? I thought you really liked him.”

“Oh, I did. But I can’t torture myself over someone who isn’t going to show up. The right one will come along and everything will fall into place, as they say. Everything for a reason.”

Sam chuckled, softly. “You sound like Nana.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You do that.”

They both stared at the bees buzzing in the rosebushes for a moment, Sam finishing her cigarette. “You know what she used to say about soul mates, yeah?”

Georgia gave a half laugh. “Which one?”

“That if you believe you have one, then you do.”

“I do remember that one.”

Sam crossed her arms. “And that the fates bring you together as many times as needed to make it stick.”

Georgia’s eyebrows shot up. “What point are you trying to make,
Minnie
?”

Sam smiled. “I think you’re gonna cross paths with this Scottish guy again.”

Though not hearing from Garrett had left her heartbroken, Georgia suffered through a man like Walter Timlin. The grief and cruelty she’d known at that man’s hands seemed to make her stronger. She knew she could recover, knew that if a man fell short of his promises, it was the best for everyone that he disappear. Still, despite all that wisdom and the time that had passed, she’d still gone aflutter at the memory of him when Germaine Ross called to speak to over the past few months - and hearing Sam’s words made her heart skip.

“Damn it, Sam. That wasn’t helpful. I don’t need to be pining for a dude who couldn’t even make a phone call.”

“I’m just sayin – if he’s your soul mate, not even he can fuck it up.”

Georgia felt her phone buzz in her clutch purse and glanced at it. Despite not hearing it ring, there was a voicemail notification from Sarah, her agent. “Hang on one second?”

Sam nodded, and Georgia turned away, listening. The message was quick, almost excitedly so. Georgia stood there silent, chills running down her spine. She let the news settle before she turned back to Sam.

Sam saw her shocked expression and glared at her. “So, what amazing thing can Dad brag about now? Did you win the Nobel Prize?”

Georgia breathed in through her nose, pursing her lips. “They’re asking me to speak at the Edinburgh Literary Festival.”

Sam started to laugh. “You’re fucking kidding? When is it?”

“August.”

“Oh man, the timing of that is out of control! You know you have to go to the tattoo, right? Go shank a cop for Dad!”

“You had to say that, didn’t you Sam. You said it, and now I’m going back to Sco -”

“Dude, I’m a fucking sorceress.”

“Watch your language, please!” Stephanie called from the front doors of the house. Sam shot a double barreled flip off toward the house.

“I can see you, Samantha!”

Sam hid her hands behind her back. “Love you.”

Georgia let Sam regale her a moment, lost in thought. She was going back to Scotland.

Holy shit, she was going back to Scotland.

Georgia turned for the front doors of the house and marched into her father’s office. She opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a piece of paper and pen.

Samantha Emmeline Kilduff, Esq.

She handed the paper to Samantha. Her sister looked down at the piece of paper and visibly relaxed.

CHAPTER NINE

“You ‘ave to tell me ‘ow you come up wif these stories!”

The woman on the train was in her fifties, red haired and robust about the middle. She had a Birmingham accent, giving her a tendency of drawing out certain words. Georgia shrugged, forcing a smile. “Honestly, I just have a very randy imagination, I guess.”

The woman leaned in, her bust pressing against Georgia’s elbow. “’Ow many of the crazy things you write ‘ave you actually done? Go on then. You can say, your secret’s safe wi’ me!”

The woman snorted then, chortling to herself as she searched Georgia’s face. Georgia offered only an eyebrow wiggle, and then excused herself from her seat, claiming to need the restroom.

Georgia did use the restroom, but slipped out the back of the train car and found another seat. Normally, she’d have booked a first class ticket, but the train ticket kiosks of Scotland were still foreign to her. She found an empty seat with a table before it and watched the green landscape whizzing by outside, trying to clear her mind. The train was coming into Edinburgh shortly, she needed to be in good spirits for the day ahead.

The train slowed, pulling into a new station – Inverkeithing. They were getting close.

Georgia ordered a quick snack from the cart as it rolled through, but couldn’t get more than a bite or two down. Her stomach was turned. The moment the plane touched down in Scotland again, Georgia felt pulled by some strange gravity toward the little book shop in Inverness.

“You sure you want to do this? You said yourself, you’d never again waste your time on a man who isn’t going to show up,” Cass had said, but Georgia was as helpless to the pull of Inverness as she was to her heart beating. She’d just wanted to see him, lay eyes on him, praying that maybe doing so would break the spell he’d had on her for so long.

“I can’t explain it,” she’d said. “I just have to go.”

Georgia left the Edinburgh Book Festival behind, trudged all the way to Inverness with butterflies and lightning in her heels. She remembered the sensation of a cannonball dropping in her stomach as she’d turned the corner around Costas and saw the Burns Book Shop closed, a travel agent nestled in its place.

“There you are! I wondered where you’d run off to!” The red headed woman plopped down next to Georgia, her breasts pouring onto the table, sheathed in a dragon T-shirt.

Only a little ways more, Georgia, she thought. Hang in there.

‘Ms. Mason,’ the sign read.

Georgia smiled at the man. “Hey there.”

The driver raised an eyebrow at her. “Victoria Mason?”