Night Writer

Yes should could have purchased a cabin on the side of a remote lake to pound away at the keyboard in a dream environment many people would say would be just right for a creative novelist. Well she hadn't done that because she hadn't instinctively thought she ought to do that and she'd purchased the property in Florida simply because she'd long dreamed of having a beach house in Florida.

Geneva entered the airport terminal at Denver. Now in a novel this is where a handsome (yes that word was back) guy would bumped into her, giving her a dazzling apology and take her to bed after a sumptuous dinner.

Well it didn't happen that was at all. She certainly was bumped, but rudely, in the crush and she waited a long time in line for a cab. The cab driver was grumpy, the manager at the apartment signing her in kept yawning and she had pizza for dinner and cried and thought about that log cabin in Vermont. But then had the vision of a big beer-belly ranger ordering her to evacuate because rising flood waters would send crocodiles into her cabin. What crocodiles in America? No this guy wasn't a field ranger. In posters they were always slim and handsome. The ugly and fat ones pushed pens in offices or were managers. She looked out of the window and saw a line of refugees from Somalia waiting to occupy her cabin in idyllic wilderness. Oh god.

She wailed, "Come on you fool, get out of your emotional rut. You'd be no good alone a cabin and Denver is where you are supposed to be."

Geneva felt better and went out and bought a bottle of wine, ran a bath, and spent the evening sipping wine and flicking her toes in water, reflecting about her draft novel.

That turned out to be an amazing session. Geneva was horrified that although she'd written 88,000 words, a little over half the target size of her novel, nowhere had her heroine cried. What a cold-hearted bitch.

There was no mention of Wanda's religion, political or lack of political leanings, that some of her shoes were too tight and some bras were too loose, she was prone to sniffing when alone and idle, she was always fucked by a guy, Wanda never fucked him, and her mom was always as nice as pie. Oh yeah! Did Wanda ever pass wind? Geneva had no idea and thought readers would be keen to give that a miss and ditto for the couple of times Wanda drunkenly peed her pants, although perhaps male readers might be enlightened by that.

There were other things missing including why did Wanda choose a black car, how many dents had she added to the car's bodywork, could you change a tire, what were her supermarket practices, how many times a week did she wash here hair, what did she really wish to do with her life, what did she want out of life, what were her worst fears, had she ever smoked pot, did she smoke, it was often stated she cooked and what she cooked but what were her favorite things to cook and her favorites when eating out, and how often did she go to the hairdresser and what did she and the hairdresser talk about?

Oh god, Wanda was a cardboard cutout and only emoted when having sex or not finding what she wanted when shopping or some asshole mistreated her. Oh god. Geneva couldn't believe it. She'd devised a great storyline, in her opinion, and had worked diligently on setting and pace and unfolding the story with appropriate bursts up upscale action or drama to keep readers awake. But where was character detailing and development? The world she was portraying was inhabited by zombies. And what did Wanda want from a man besides a plunging cock? Oh and she still wasn't sure about the name Wanda.

Geneva laid back on her bed feeling frustrated that she'd been engaged in writing a reject novel. But at least she'd pulled up in time. She stretched a nipple and reached down and slid in a wetted finger and opened her legs wide. Well she might as well extract some pleasure from her first night in her new home.

The finger stroked in and out repeatedly and deliciously and wondered if boyfriends and partners/husbands knew there woman still enjoyed a quiet masturbation no matter how much attention they were getting.

Her jumbled thoughts smoothed out and her mood softened.

Geneva slid in a second finger and turned her hand over and sunk those fingers deeply to reach that area or maximum sensitivity and she circled that thumb around her clit while using the other hand to squeeze her left breast softly.

Hmmm. This was so good.

She worked at it slowly, having no reason to finish in a rush. At times like this she really felt in love with her body and if it became hard going she wasn't shy about wriggling a moist finger on her other hand into her butt. But there was no need to increase sensations tonight because already she was running hot.

Geneva's breast and pussy became even more swollen and her breathing rate increased.

"It will be a big squirt from you tonight little darling," she cooed.

And that was true.

Finally Geneva felt the need to up tempo, added another finger and plunged them in and out into the increasingly sloppy environment down there. Her breathing raced and she now rubbed the nub of her clit with that thumb.

Her temperature momentarily soared and her blood pounded and she hauled up her hand to thrust her juice-soaked fingers into her mouth and bit on them lightly to muffle her scream as she climaxed, feeling wave after wave of pleasurable feeling and as those feeling subsided Geneva became aware of increased fluid seeping out and running over her thighs towards the towel she'd remembered to place there.

She padded to the bathroom, feeling at peace, and yawned, "No writing for you tonight."

During the night she awoke, a name being shouted having disturbed her sleep.

She went to the second bedroom, booted her laptop and used the find and replace facility in MS Word to change the name of her heroine to the name that had awoken her, Lydia. While she was at it she changed all references of her hero's name from Charles back to her original selection of Rogan. She then returned to bed and slept soundly, knowing she had a great deal of rewriting to do.

Late next morning Geneva was editing her draft, inserting more descriptive wording to reveal more of her heroine Lydia's character.

Oh no. She'd come to a bit about dressing to go out to dinner where she now wanted to name Lydia's shoe size to be more descriptive about her heroine. Geneva and some other female friends she'd known were 9s. Her smaller mom could squeeze into 7s but was more comfortable in 7.5s. Geneva sighed and thought go for a number. She stated that Lydia (5 ft. 8 in with a dress size of 10) 'pulled her size 8 shiny black pumps, brushing back her blonde fringe each time it fell forward, making her think putting on shoes was a task requiring three hands. She joked to herself perhaps growing her hair longer and tying it in a ponytail would be more practical than attempting to have a third arm and hand implant.

Geneva the writer smiled, thinking another hurdle had been negotiated. She paused to consider what she would choose as Lydia's sexual position. Perhaps she should ask Lydia? Geneva laughed and believed she should take a break from editing before she began attempting to talk to Lydia.

* * *

After spending three days looking around Denver and going to a couple of movies because she'd decided to remain a night rider, Geneva thought to was time to register as a couple of job placement agencies after lunch. She went to a cafe near one of the agencies for lunch and ordered meatballs and a glass of light red wine.

The place was crowded and a fat guy wearing glasses paused tentatively at her table and said, "Tables are tight Miss, would you please allow me to sit at your table."

"Yes of course. This must be a popular café to be so crowded?"

"Indeed," he said, but without saying why. "That observation suggests you are new to this part of the city or even to Denver."

"Yes I arrived three days ago from near the south-east coast. My name is Geneva Graham."

"Hi I'm Miles Williams-Jones."

"With hyphenation?"

"Yes but call me Miles. What do you do Geneva?"

"Well at present I'm doing something you've never heard of?"

"Hooker?" he laughed and she giggled and said no.

"Phew I took a bit of a risk there," he said.

"But you laughed. I'm attempting to write a novel."

"Then you are a writer until you get published and then you could call yourself a novelist but prudently only after three novels. I know people who are both and so don't understand why you think I wouldn't know what a writer or a novelist is?"

"Well it's slightly more complicated than that. I've found I write best after nightfall when everything around me begins to rumble less and I guess also my mind becomes more creative. So I call myself a night writer. I didn't think anyone would know what a night writer was."

"Oh I see. So what do you do during the day?"

"Well I'm about to register with a couple of job placement agencies to get part-time employment."

Geneva's meatballs arrived with her red wine and another waitress arrived with his red wine.

"You start Geneva."

"I'll wait for a minute or two. Cheers."

They sipped their wine.

Miles asked what her job preference was.

"In publishing. I've noticed there are a number of publishers based here. I've had publishing experience."

Miles sniffed his wine and said, "In what capacity?"

"I started as a copy editor, went on to become an editor's assistant and then spent my last three years working as one of the assistants to the acquisition editor."

"That sounds like considerable experience?"

"Yes some years, oh and one of the assistant editor jobs was working with the production editor," she said, as Miles' meatballs arrived.

They began eating.

"Cor these really are meatballs."

"Well that's the reason why many regulars like me come here. May I ask where did you pick up that expression 'cor'?"

"In London where I worked. It was used quite frequently."

"What you worked in publishing in London, I mean in central London, The City?"

"Yes. Are you in publishing?"

"Yes."

"Now don't lie to me Miles," she giggled and he smiled and asked who she had worked for in London.

"Shrimp, Angus & McLaren."

"Jesus."

"Oh so you know them?"

Miles said he knew of them, that SA&M specialized in technical books internationally and children's and historic novels mainly for sale in Great Britain and Ireland.

"You are well informed. I worked in the novels division."

The conversation shifted and they talked on happily and eventually it was time to go.

They shook hands and Miles handed Geneva his business card.

"I'd like you to be in my office at 9:30 tomorrow morning with you CV, references and anything else you wish. The only position we have vacant should suit you; it's 10:00 to 3:00 each weekday tutoring editing staff one-on-one up to but excluding those in full editor positions. They all have at least a BA but need to up-skill to real world editing and have someone with the time to explain where they are going wrong."

Geneva said, "You mean a skills upgrading tutor?"

"Yes exactly."

"And is it true that position didn't exist until less than an hour ago."

Miles rubbed his ear and admitted that was true.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"It's simple... good people are difficult to find. We have some people who don't quite jump the bar. They are not too bad because if they were they'd be fired. My mother who is company chairman and I, and others of course, believe our output should be A1. Standards have slipped a little in publishing in recent years because, as I indicated, good people who perform to extremely high standards have become difficult to find. I need to check your credentials and in all probability I shall offer you a three-month contract. By then an editing position that suits you may have become vacant."

"Well Miles, I am interested. I have a MA in English Lit from Boston but have no teaching qualifications although I have tutored my assistants during the past four years in instruction you have just spoken about. So let me get my CV and references to you and we can take it from there."

Next morning, ninety minutes after walking into the offices of Footprint Book Publishers, Geneva left the building hired on six-month contract as Senior Editing Tutor and signed on and completed all formalities and would begin work next morning at 10:00.

Geneva walked up the street a bit and entered a coffee shop and ordering coffee and a slice of lemon tart sat outside in the sunshine, amazed how quickly things had moved for her in the past twenty-one hours since Miles had stood at the café table and had asked if he could share the table because all others were taken.

Miles as Footprint's CEO didn't hire her; he correctly left that to Donna Williams-Jones, his wife and executive editor, who had coffee served while she read the personal file Geneva had given her. Donna then conducted the interview with Miles asking a question and commenting twice.

Sitting outside the coffee shop, Geneva thought the whole thing seemed rather bizarre that began the previous day at lunch when Miles, learning she'd been in publishing, didn't initially say he worked for a publisher and then later plucked the prospect of a job for her out of the blue. And then today, why hadn't she been alone in Donna's office for the interview? It was a senior appointment but not with the ranking of executive officer as she would have expected if, for example, she'd been interviewed for Donna's position.

"Omigod," Geneva breathed. "Perhaps that was it. Miles was in his mid-fifties so that meant mommy, as chairman, could be at least seventy-five. Miles may have thought Geneva with her London experience with a publisher at least five times larger than Footprint should be interviewed as the as heir to Donna's chair when Donna was appointed CEO when Miles replaced his mom as chairman, probably taking the title of executive chairman.

Could it be that?

Geneva, who liked to think she was well developed as a creative thinker, thought yes it was a possibility.

If that was a possibility, then it was an odd way of going about it. It would be almost immoral in fact having her under surveillance as a tutor as a candidate for a much higher role and without declaring their hand to Geneva.

After signing on, Geneva thought it strange that she hadn't been introduced to senior staff. Well so much for theory, she mightn't accept the role of executive editor if offered to her anyway because it would be fulltime, giving her little chance to rest up before she began night writing.

Hey whoa, this was all speculative bullshit.

Geneva had rented a car for a week to give herself time to by choosing about the vehicle she would buy. She'd left the car in a nearby parking station. Oh crap, what was the make of the car again? She'd forgotten but remembered it was dark red. She entered the fifth level and found about one-third of the parked vehicles were some shade of red.

Oh crap.

She walked door one side of the building, pressing her key remote and lo, at the fourth press of the device the lights of a red car lit up. That find was confirmed when the key in her hand started the ignition. God little wonder some men thought women were stupid about cars. A guy who rented a vehicle when she did would have memorized the make, model, plate ID, how many thingies it had to shift manually and the type of wheel trims. On the other hand some men would have trouble finding the parking station where they'd left their vehicle.

Geneva went under her apartment building to park, remembering her space number, only to find a guy had parked there are was just getting out of his Corvette.

She slammed the car horn.

He smiled and waved.

She hit the horn again and he smiled and came over, peering through the windscreen as if attempting to recognize her (without lifting his sunglasses of course, not that would have helped).

"Good morning ma'am," said the good-looking hunk. "Are you lost or have you forgotten your apartment number?"

"Pardon me," Geneva said guiltily, having been too busy checking him out to have heard the question.

"Have you forgotten your apartment number?"

"No but obviously you have," she said icily.

He said, sounding surprised, "What has 2404 been rented?"

"Yes and that area marked 2404 is my designated parking space."

He grinned and said well that was surprise. The next apartment to his mother's had been empty for weeks.

"I understand it was being renovated," she said stiffly. "Then that work finished and I came along."

He said in that case she probably wanted him to shift his vehicle.

"I did have that thought in mind."

He grinned and said she was very good looking and a touch of indignation colored her cheeks nicely. He saluted and walked back to his car and Geneva reversed her vehicle clear and fumed what an insolent asshole.

He drove off waving and she parked, thudding the front wheels against the stop to prevent vehicles ramming the concrete wall.

She sighed.

Geneva entered the lobby and found Asshole was standing astride the doors to hold the elevator.

"Thanks, you are a gentleman," she said creatively.

He smiled and said he'd bet her opinion of him would have change from that in the underground garage.

She blushed and made no effort to hide that. He grinned.

"So you are Mrs Mason's son?"

"Yes, the younger of her two children."

"I'm Geneva Graham."

"Oh hi Geneva, I'm James Mason but calling me Jim is okay. And what does Geneva do?"

"She's a night writer."

"I'm afraid I don't understand..."

"I write at nights."

"What you write books?"

"I'm attempting to write a novel yes, my first attempt."

They left the elevator at the 24th and he said, "Hand me your keycard."

Geneva did that meekly and then wondered hotly why had she done that.

She watched James unlock her door and he stood back and handed the card back to her.

"I can't keep my eyes off you."

What?

"In that case you may need to have your eyes tested," she said sweetly and glided in and closed the door, her heart shifting up a gear. He was rather dishy.

Her doorbell went.

She opened the door and looked at him.

"Well you meet me at the bar across the street from her at 5:30 this evening for a drink?"

"Yes and thanks for that neighborly offer James. Bye."

She closed the door and leaned against it, heart pumping. God, what a great way to meet a guy keen to have sex with her.

* * * Geneva had just sat at the bar when James arrived and attracted the attention of the bartender. She chose vodka on the rocks and wondered why James hadn't knocked on the door of her apartment and gone down the elevator with her.

He asked how her day had been and she said uneventful apart from getting a part-time job and they talked about that. He said the traffic from his office had been heavy and he apologized for being a couple of minutes late.

"I should have been here to greet you."

"Oooh," she laughed and could see he liked that.

"My impression of your mother is she's a very lovely lady."

"Thanks, I like you saying that. Believe me, she said the same thing about you and suggested I date you."

"Oh really? Then I must assume you're not married."

"Not any longer," he said. "I'm looking and progress is negligible."

Oh dear, Geneva sighed to herself. At this rate it could easily be 2:00 am before he pushed into her. Obviously he was the type of guy a first-date girl had to work on.

"You didn't kiss me when you arrived and you forget to whisper nice breasts."

His eyes widened and focused on her breasts momentarily.

She waited.

James' head jerked up and he eyed her.

He pulled her to him and they kissed slightly opened mouthed and he dropped a palm over a breast and whispered "Great tits" and bit the ear lobe before sitting back upright on his stool.