Writing Mr. Right (14 page)

Twat. Garrett turned from the auditorium and stormed across the walkway.

“You’re no friends wi’ her, really, are ye?”

Garrett turned to find Jenny’s smug face smiling at him from the front steps of the auditorium.

He took a long, slow breath. “You’re fired.”

“What?!”

He was gone before she could respond.

***

Georgia shook her head at the interviewer. She’d been paired with another well-known author, Cody Mitchell, sitting before a large crowd of readers, writers, agents and other publishing minds as the masses picked her brain for anything they could. This was the UK, and Georgia had come to recognize how intimate an interview in the UK could get. The British tabloids and news agencies loved a juicy story to scandalize and blow out of proportion. This resulted in many interviewers going straight for the nitty gritty, demanding to know where inspiration for her stories came from. One had gone so far as to ask after the number of sexual partners she’d had, a question she politely declined to answer. Cody had just posed the ever favorite question of many of her readers –

“Do you try out all of your material in the real world to see if it works?”

Cody wrote horror novels about alien invasion and spent a great deal of time describing human brain dissection.

Georgia took a deep breath and smiled at him. “Do you?”

He grinned at her as the crowd laughed. “Touché, my dear. Alright, we’re going to open up to the crowd. Anyone have any questions for Victoria?”

Despite the dark of the room, Georgia could see several hands shoot up. Cody began to call on them one by one.

The reading and interview were two hours long, and they were closing in on the final fifteen minutes. Georgia was looking forward to freedom. Though several other writers from the festival were planning a bit of a night out after the event, Georgia wasn’t sure she could stomach a drunken social tour of Edinburgh. Still, she gave everyone her utmost, answering their questions as though they were the first person to ever ask such a thing.

“Are you working on anything else?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“When will the next book be released?”

“What is your writing approach?”

Each answer was memorized, save for a flourish here and there to make it sound interesting. Finally, they were down to the last two.

“What is it about Scotland that made ye decide to set your books here? Had ye been here before?”

Georgia leaned in, shielding her eyes from the spotlights overhead to make eye contact with the young, ginger haired woman with a million freckles.

Georgia smiled at her. “I don’t know. I did come here with my family when I was very young. I had a wonderful time, went to half a dozen castles – saw the tattoo.”

A few people in the crowd whooped in response.

Georgia stopped a moment to think. “Honestly, if I were to try to put it into words – I feel called here. Ever since I was very young, I’ve felt as though I’m meant to find something here; like a piece of myself, maybe?”

Cody Mitchell took a sip of his water. “Almost like you’re writing your way into discovery, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I think you’re right, writing is an act of self-discovery, in essence. I think it’s like an egg; you sorta crack yourself open and pour yourself out. Sometimes you have two yolks, sometimes you smell like farts. It’s a crap shoot.”

The crowd laughed at this as Georgia leaned in to meet the young woman’s gaze. “I think it was a way for me to commune with that thing I feel is here for me. And given I couldn’t afford to up and fly to Scotland unless my parents were footing the bill, I escaped her in my mind. Does that answer your question?”

The girl smiled wide and nodded, turning from the microphone to take her seat.

“One last question,” Cody said. “There. Go ahead, sir.”

Georgia scanned the crowd, spotting the short gentlemen toward the back of the venue. He was thick in the neck, had a brutal case of neck beard, and a messy mop of black hair on the top of his head.

“So, having read
Woman in White
, and now
The Seafarer
, I was wondering what your stance was on ‘authorial influence,’ and realism.”

Cody’s eyebrows shot up as Georgia leaned in again.

“Can you explain that for me?” She asked.

“Authorial influence. When the author steps in and plays God for the sake of plot, rather than allowing character to drive the story.”

Cody chuckled. “We’re writers, it’s our job to play God.”

The crowd laughed, but Georgia kept her eyes on the squat fellow, his American accent reminding her of a pompous philosophy professor she’d had in college.

Georgia ignored the laughter, and instead responded. “I think I know what you’re saying. I try very hard to let character be the driving force of my writing, personally. I’m not a fan of taking extra license, in that respect.”

“You don’t feel that you stepped in at the end of
The Seafarer
for the sake of your happy ending?”

Several voices in the crowd gave low, warning groans of disapproval. They did not appreciate his tone, nor did Cody. Cody started speaking, ready to shut the man down, but Georgia waved him off.

“No sir, I don’t. Do you - what’s your name again?”

The man cleared his throat. “Matthew. And yes, I do.”

The crowd was growing agitated and more verbally so. Georgia continued as though it were just she and Matthew sitting down the pub. “Well, how so?”

An usher gestured for Matthew to take the microphone and come toward the front. Georgia smiled at him as he came into view, despite the self-important air about him.

Georgia wasn’t a fan of self-importance.

“In
Woman in White
and
The Seafarer
, you have these characters going on sea voyages, dealing with piracy, shipwrecks, all these massive events, and I understand at the center, you wanted to draw in the love story element, but Deirdre and Douglas go their separate ways.”

“Not by choice,” Georgia said.

“No, not by choice, that’s a given, but still – how much time passes while they’re separated? Months? Years?”

“A long time, yeah.”

Matthew scratched at his neck beard as he held her gaze. He was enjoying this, clearly. “In real life, men don’t go on with their lives for months and years on end, then up and decide to go after the girl. That’s not a realistic male character.”

The crowd again voiced their chagrin.

“Don’t you think that by making Douglas uproot his whole life on the off chance that after so much time maybe Deirdre still had feelings for him – don’t you think you were writing with a heaping helping of wishful thinking? Don’t you feel that by writing that ending, you took a great deal of authorial freedom there, and instead of letting the character Douglas be who he is and move on, you decided to make Douglas who you wanted him to be? To propel the story?”

Georgia exhaled out her nose in a half laugh. “You like that word, huh Matthew? Authorial.”

He returned the laugh, but stared her down.

Georgia sat back in her chair, pursing her lips in thought. The room was eerily silent, and she could hear her own breathing through the microphone. She lowered it a moment and thought. Then she lifted it to her lips for a second. “You’re single, yes Matthew?”

The crowd burst into laughter, but Georgia waved her hands at them to be still. “Hey now, hey now. I am, too. No judgments.”

Cody leaned into her. “Do you want me to shut it down?”

Georgia shook her head and turned back to Matthew, honoring his question with some thought. She couldn’t help but think of her train ride the day before, of leaving Cass to fend for herself in Edinburgh while she took off for Inverness on a hope and a prayer that maybe Garrett might like the sight of her on his doorstep. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t see a striking parallel. Finally, she brought the microphone back her lips.

“Yes.”

Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. “You admit it? Wow, I respect that.”

“Well, what good would it do me to deny it, of course I took authorial license with the characters of my own book.”

Several people in the crowd hollered their approval, but she continued.

“Here’s the problem with your logic, Matthew. See, I can’t ‘make’ Douglas MacCready do something he wouldn’t, because I
am
Douglas MacCready. He is a part of me. He always has been. I’ve been carrying him around in my very soul long before I wrote him. He’s just waiting for the day I would acknowledge him and put him on the page, and when I did, he spoke, moved, shagged just as he wanted to and just as I wanted him to, because we are the same damn person. My villains, my heroes, my heroines – they’re all me, to some extent.”

Cody chuckled beside her, feigning to move his chair away. The crowd laughed with him.

“When Douglas MacCready throws up his hands one day and goes after the woman he can’t stop thinking about, do I think that was my influence on that character, yes. It was. Because that’s exactly what I would have done, by god. And if that’s what came out of me when I wrote it, then that’s exactly what Douglas MacCready would have done.”

The crowd cheered to this, several women near Matthew making a point to stand up and clap in his direction.

Georgia just smiled at him. “And honestly, if men in this world won’t go after a woman they love simply because time has passed, then honestly, I’m glad I’m single.”

A couple people whooped at this from throughout the crowd. Georgia leaned, smiling toward Matthew. “Did that answer your question?”

He nodded, smiling back at her. “It did. Thank you.”

Matthew headed back to his seat and Cody wrapped up the interview, thanking her as the crowd hollered and clapped. Georgia stood to a crescendo of applause, waved to the faces she could make out, and snuck backstage, meeting Cassie in the green room to settle herself.

“Was a good showing, yeah?”

Georgia nodded. “It was. I’m freaking starving now, though.”

Cassie set down her notebook – the precious object in which she jotted down every minute detail of Georgia’s life – and pulled out her phone. “What do you want? I’ll have somebody run and get it.”

“I can’t. I have to go out and sign.”

“Well, I’ll have somebody grab it anyway. Have it ready for you.”

Georgia gave in to Cassie’s commands and ordered a chicken kebab with garlic and chili sauce, then hustled out into the lobby of the hall. The line for the signing table was wrapped around the perimeter, three people thick. She would be there for a while.

“Oh my god, I love your books! Where can I find a Douglas MacCready?”

Georgia smiled up at the lovely blonde. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

The signing went as usual. A lot of the same questions, same comments, posing and smiling for pictures, accepting hugs. The number of male readers had grown over the last few months, most of them kind and humorous, some of them creepy. Still, they bought her books.

Georgia flexed her hand, smiling down at the big pen she now signed with as a habit. The same kind of pen Garrett MacCauley had given her.

“We’re looking good. Only a few more after this crowd. Do you want me to see if there is anyone outside waiting?”

Georgia nodded and Cassie headed for the front doors of the auditorium as Georgia answered the familiar question.

Another reader handed her their book. “Where can I find a Douglas MacCready?”

“I’ll let you know when I find out.”

A gaggle of three elated girls snuck into the hall, clutching copies of her book to their chests. Georgia took a deep breath, happy to see the end in sight, and signed the next book to a sweet older woman named Grace.

“Oh my god, thank ye so much fer letting me in. I couldnae get a ticket fer the life of me.”

Georgia smiled up at the pretty brunette with crooked teeth. “Of course. Thank you for reading. I appreciate your coming out anyway.”

“Oh, wouldnae miss it! Makes the evenin a bit better. Got fired earlier, ye see?”

Georgia looked up into the woman’s face, earnestly concerned. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, nae bother. Boss was a lunatic, apparently. Ye know, he was here claimin he knew ye. Load a rubbish.”

“Did he now? I’d say I don’t know a lot of crazy Scotsmen, but I’m pretty sure all Scotsmen are at least a smidge crazy.”

The other people waiting laughed, but this woman just continued. “Nae,
I mean it. Was even snooping around the back door, there. To think I mighta shagged him, had I the chance. Now I know better.”

“Dodged a bullet then. What’s your name?” Georgia asked.

“Jennifer, but you can sign it Jenny, please.”

“Alright, Jenny.”

Georgia turned her eyes to her handwriting, giving the usual flourish to her V.

“I’ll miss workin in the book store, though. Was a fair pleasure getting paid to read magazines day.”

Georgia’s hand stilled over the N in Mason. “You worked in a book store?”

“I did. Royal Mile Bookseller we was called, til the lunatic came and changed the name. Stay away from there. The owner is obsessed wit ye.”

“What did he change the name to?”

“Burns Book Shop. Rubbish name, I say.”

Georgia froze.

The woman named Jennifer rolled her eyes. “His name’s Garrett. Garrett MacCauley. You know he brought you flowers and the like? Pathetic.”

Georgia exhaled, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath. She slammed the book shut and handed it back to Jenny. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh no, thank ye! I can’t wait for the next book!”

She snuck around the table to pose for a selfie with Georgia, then she was gone, and Georgia couldn’t get through the last few stragglers fast enough.

“Oh god, Georgia, I didn’t know,” Cassie said, hustling along beside her.

“No, it’s fine. I know you didn’t.”

“And I did tell him he could come in, but then I never saw him again.”

“It’s fine, Cass! Burns Book Shop, can you look that up for me?” Georgia hustled out the backstage door toward the waiting car, a broad smile on her face. She stopped dead just outside, startled by the spray of color at her feet. A dozen or so roses, tulips, and lilies were scattered across the concrete, their stalks twisted and marred.