Paperback Romance

Literary agent Alison has been in love with her favorite author-client for years. Not that paperback romance writer Carolyn has ever noticed. She sees Alison as a close, loyal friend; she has never questioned society's conventions. When Alison negotiates a lucrative contract for her, Carolyn seizes the unexpectedly large advance to fulfill a passion of her own. Beginning in Paris, scene of her brief, calamitous marriage, she will immerse herself in great music from the world's great orchestra's. Paris brings a dramatic encounter with Nicolas Frost, the remote, driven young conductor who is creating a reputation for musical brilliance. When the smitten Carolyn discovers the conductor's masquerade -necessary to achieve recognition in the male-dominated higher echelons of classical music- she is suddenly faced with the true nature of her powerful attraction to Nick. Meanwhile, Alison has found her own consolation. But does sweet, passionate Samantha have any chance of winning Alison's affections away from Carolyn? Can there be any future for Nick and Carolyn?

1

Overture

Carolyn was going to be tickled lavender. Alison smiled at her own fancy — Carolyn would only be tickled pink. Alison was dreaming about the lavender part.

Luscious lavender or merely pink — it didn't matter, she told herself, as long as she was able to deliver the check in person. Waiting was excruciating. To pass the time she called out, "Any sign of Federal Express?"

Devon's voice floated back to her, edged with impatience. "Not yet." Unsaid, but hanging in the air was the added message, "For the tenth time in the last ten minutes."

Alison sighed. The check absolutely, positively had to be here by ten o'clock if she was going to deliver it herself, otherwise it would have to go by messenger. And I'll miss the expression on her face, and the hug of thanks. Maybe two hugs.

A part of Alison — the part she listened to least — told her she should not rearrange her life around the possibility of a hug from Carolyn. But what the heck — she'd suffered from unrequited love for so long it was a fixture in her life.

She tried to concentrate on the contract she was going to negotiate in Los Angeles this afternoon. It was her first contract negotiation with Pullman & Sons, and the author involved deserved as much attention as Alison was presently giving to Carolyn. Carolyn was of course Alison's favorite author, but she had to take a back seat to the business at hand or McNamara Literary would become a one...client agency — a situation too precarious for Alison's peace of mind. Fortified by the specter of negative cash flow, Alison set herself to unraveling Article VI, Section A, Part 34(f).

The front door of her tiny office suite opened sometime later and Alison realized with a shock that it was almost eleven. Even as she leapt past Devon and snatched the proffered envelope from the courier, Alison silently wailed that today of all days the guaranteed ten o'clock delivery time had not been met. You'd think Sacramento was Barstow or Bakersfield or, God forbid, Fresno.

Back at her desk, she zipped the strip on the package and shook out the contents. She didn't give the signed contract a second glance. She knew by heart every detail of the arrangement for Carolyn's — or rather, Carly Vincent's — first three romances to be distributed in Canadian and Australian supermarkets and bookstores. It was the check that gained all her attention.

"Can I touch it?" Devon leaned over Alison's shoulder.

"You may look," Alison said. She held it out for his perusal.

Devon whistled. "Looks like I'm due for a bonus," he said with his usual lack of humility. "And if she doesn't get the hots for you after this, then she never will."

"Keep it up and there's no bonus," Alison said crushingly.

"Okay. I'll say no more. So I'm definitely getting a bonus. That's nice." Devon smiled serenely at Alison.

"Con artist," she said fondly, then she grimaced as she remembered the time. "I'm off to the bank."

As she hurried up the street, Alison could only think about what Carolyn's portion would mean to Carolyn. It had been at least nine months since Carolyn had returned from Paris. She'd gone to do research, to give Carly Vincent an international flair. Alison's upper lip took on a Billy Idol curl as she recalled the completely inappropriate turn Carolyn's research had taken. First had come the ecstatic telegram, "Got married you'll love him. Home soon." Alison's world had rocked; she doubted she would 'love him." Matters hardly improved when two weeks later a second telegram arrived: Single again. Will explain when home.

Alison had remained Carolyn's friend over the years, their ties to each other remaining strong even when Alison spent several years in New York. Though not aware of how or where Carolyn spent every night, Alison had suspected that Carolyn had never had any kind of meaningful sexual experience. That fact kept Alison hoping more and more intensely over the years that some day Carolyn would realize Alison could be there for her in more ways than just as an agent and friend. It had still been a shock to find out, while Carolyn sobbed out a garbled account of the entire fiasco, that Carolyn had indeed, like the heroines in her novels, gone to her marriage bed a virgin. Carolyn had said bitterly that she didn't know what she'd waited thirty years for.

What could I have done? There hadn't been anything to do but listen and soothe. Carolyn had been shattered — her romantic, storybook marriage had ended with her new husband's infidelity, a convenient annulment and intervention by the American Consulate. Alison suspected once the romance had worn off, shortly into the wedding night, Carolyn had not been able to respond sexually to her hero. But Carolyn, pouring the sad story into Alison's receptive shoulder, believed she was frigid and that the entire mess was her fault.

After that, Carolyn's emotions had iced over and had yet to thaw. Before the marriage she and Carolyn regularly got together just to split a Sara Lee cheesecake and watch old movies. Since the marriage, it was business and business only that brought them together. Carolyn dodged discussions of anything except work. The entire affair had altered the foundation of their long-standing friendship, but on the bright side — if there was a bright side — Carolyn had finally come to the conclusion that she was not sexually compatible with men. This was good news for Alison. The bad news was that Carolyn had decided she wasn't sexually compatible with anyone. Alison had taken Carolyn's lead — and she'd been waiting for nine long months for an offer to do anything together that didn't involve business.

She was in luck at the bank, although the speediest teller in the world wouldn't give her the half hour she needed to get to Carolyn's and then to the airport. The bank teller, Alison's favorite for reasons other than efficiency, completed the transactions quickly and with a smile that was a little more intimate than the job required. One of these days Alison was going to follow up on the invitation the teller had been discretely extending to her ever since they'd seen each other at the Sacramento Pride Faire. Maybe this one could cure her addiction to Carolyn Vincense.

Back at her desk, Alison swept the contract file into her briefcase and confirmed that she did indeed have her plane tickets. She checked her watch again, but time had not stopped. If only Carolyn didn't live all the way out in the 'burbs — it was a twenty-five minute struggle up J Street, over the American River and then on up Fair Oaks Boulevard, just seven miles or so, on surface streets. By the time she drove to Carolyn's, hugged her (with intense savoring) and then drove to the airport, she'd miss her flight by a good half an hour. Sacramento was getting more like Los Angeles every day.

She considered holding onto the cashier's check until tomorrow evening, but Alison...the...prudent...agent knew that such a large chunk of money shouldn't be sitting around not earning interest. Since she wouldn't be back in town until tomorrow evening, she resigned herself to giving Carolyn's check into Devon's safekeeping with strict instructions to messenger it immediately. Alison...the...unrequited...lover was quite depressed.

When her plane was finally airborne, she closed her eyes and imagined the ice around Carolyn melting at last, imagined Carolyn reaching for Alison's embrace in gratitude.

Her fantasies did not stop at a mere embrace. They never did.

2