It’s gonna cost you an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it when she reads them.” Dalton squeezed her elbow. “I just know she’ll read them. I think you should stick a few gift items in with the books, you know, personalize the submissions.”
Sara took her place in line at the order desk, Dalton trailing after her. “I’ve already thought of that,” she replied. “I’m planning to give her a couple bags of homemade granola…”
Dalton interrupted. “Oooh, that almond granola I like so much?”
“ Yes, plus I thought it might be nice to add a box of scented soaps and lotions, and maybe a few candles. You know how stale a hotel room can get.”
“ Perfect. While you’re in line, I’m going to find you the ideal gift bag, nothing tacky; something that says you’re serious about your work, but romantic when it comes to your fantasy life. You know, exactly the kind of woman a romance writer is supposed to represent.”
“ If you say so.”
“ Hey, Sara, don’t kid yourself, I know so. Romance is all about fantasy and make-believe, that’s why it’s addictive. It’s like the old Calgon commercial, Calgon, take me away ! You write about every woman’s fantasy man. We all know he doesn’t exist, but we can pretend, can’t we? Seriously, there’s nothing better than a virile, larger than life, pretend man.” Dalton lowered her voice. “A good romance hero is like the fuckinator. He’ll fuck her.That’s what he does.That’s all he does.”
“ Go, before I snort coffee through my nose. Go, Dalton, please.” Sara’s shoulders shook with laughter as she watched her friend walk away. A fuckinator? What a great idea for my next story. Guess I have my own personal fantasy fuckinator .
I hope Nathan’s there when I get home. This disappearing act is worrisome. Actually, when I think about it, it’s this appearing act of his that should be worrying me more.
Why aren’t you worrying about that, Sara? Don’t you have way more to fear from a corporeal ghost who can, as you told Dalton, fuck your brains out?
I don’t know why I’m not afraid of him, but I’m not. I’m not afraid of Nathan. I’m not entirely sure he’s even a ghost. Maybe that’s worse.
God only knows what he really is. You are fucking a semi-incorporeal being with powers and abilities far beyond your understanding and you haven’t considered committing yourself to an asylum. What’s wrong with this picture, Sara?
Oh, honey, there is so much wrong that I wouldn’t know where to begin.
“ Can I help you, Miss?”
Sara forced herself to attend to the clerk. “Yes, I have several items I need professionally bound.” She pulled three separate manuscripts out of her shoulder tote and set them down on the counter.
“ When do you need these by?”
“ Friday, noon at the latest.”
The clerk’s brow furrowed slightly. “We can probably get it done today, but we’re short staffed this week and pretty backed up. Let me talk to my manager and see what kind of price I can give you.”
“ Thanks,” Sara called to his retreating back. Great, I love spending more money I don’t have, but if it gets my stuff read, then it will be worth every penny.
***
Nathan returned home, to his dark, dank, deserted corner of purgatory, but the place no longer looked familiar. The stones were wrong, faded; darker than they’d been, if that was possible. He strode from one corner of his abode to the other, feeling the chill of death seep into his bones, and he shuddered. He could hear Sara’s voice – What bones? You have no bones, you ghost . The cold had never bothered him before; he’d welcomed it. It bothered him now.
This is not my home. I don’t belong here. I never did . Nathan knew with clarity that he’d been wrong to remain separate as long as he had. If he’d allowed himself to enter the next realm, he’d have been reborn long ago, centuries ago, born again and again until perhaps he’d have been born into
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley