mean?’ Melissa was beginning to get her creative juices running.
‘Yes, I suppose so, but it all depends on our target audience.’
‘And that is?’
‘I’ve been wondering about that. He didn’t mention it in the letter, at least not directly.
Fifty Shades of Grey
is a women’s book: by a woman, for women. And women read more books than men, don’t they. I must look up the statistics.’
‘Way ahead of you.’ Melissa was never without her smartphone. ‘Hang on,’ her fingers flashed over the keys. ‘And the answer is … wow, I am amazed. It says here that 65 percent of books are read by women. Presumably because men are too busy getting drunk and watching football.’
‘That reminds me, how is Graham? What’s he doing these days?’ Janet’s tone was sweet.
‘Apart from drinking beer and watching football, you mean?’ Melissa sounded less sweet. ‘Still making an absolute fortune playing with other people’s money. I tell people he owns a tattoo parlour. It’s less embarrassing than saying he’s a banker.’
Janet laughed. ‘So, you see, we have to aim the book at women. So what do women want?’
‘What do
you
want?’
‘You mean, what sort of book would I like to read? To be totally honest, I don’t really think I would go for an erotic book. At least not just sex, sex and more sex.’
‘While on that subject, Jan, dare I ask you a personal question?’
‘Well, we’re on a pretty personal subject as it is. Fire away.’
‘When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?’
That stopped her in her tracks. What with the business and her writing, she hadn’t had much time for socialising, let alone dating. And, if she were totally honest, she hadn’t really been bothered.
‘I’m going to need a fairly thick skin if I get involved in this project, aren’t I? Just imagine how it might be if the book is a success. Would journalists ask me that sort of question?’
‘Well, if they did there would be no obligation to answer. Come to think of it, there’s no need for you to tell me either. I was just curious to know if you had been doing any research recently.’
‘Well, the answer is not for a longish time. Not since I split up with Stephen. And that is nearly five years ago now. Come to think of it, we hadn’t had sex for ages before that.’
Melissa was staring at her. ‘What about our wedding? I set you up with one of Graham’s friends. I thought you said you and he hit it off. That’s only three years ago. We’ve just celebrated three years of married bliss.’ Her tone was dry.
‘That’s right, the Aussie. I called him Bruce all evening, and he seemed to answer to it. But seeing as he was going back to Oz the next day, there wasn’t much chance of the relationship developing.’
‘So no sex with Bruce?’
‘At my age, Mel? A one night stand with a man who spent all evening telling me about his various skin complaints?’
‘So you haven’t had sex for five, maybe ten, years. I am beginning to see why you might be interested in a book about historical sex. Can you at least remember anything about it?’ She gave Janet a searching look.
‘Yes, of course. You flail around in a darkened room and get very sticky, as I remember. Then you step out of bed next morning onto a used condom. Great start to the day.’ As she replied, her mind was reaching back across the years. ‘No, seriously, I can remember lots of things we did. And quite a few things he wanted to do that we didn’t do. Anyway, it’s like riding a bike, surely. You never forget it.’
‘Grit your teeth, pedal for all you’re worth, and try not to fall off. But, with all due respect, there’s a limit to how much you can write about two people having sex in a darkened room. Your readers, not to mention your co-author, will want a whole lot more detail, warts and all.’
‘Ah, now, Melissa, that’s where you come in.’ She saw her friend arch an eyebrow. ‘Not warts, of course. But you’re
Benjamin Blech, Roy Doliner