The Muse

"Thank you," I said with obvious relief, "I'll drop it by this morning." We ended the conversation, and, feeling a little better, I went to take a shower.

It took me five attempts to compose a note to Richard. I had to express my embarrassment for my actions, absolve him of any responsibility and graciously return his thoughtful gift. Not an easy thing to put into words. When I finally had something I didn't want to crumple and throw in the trash, I placed it in the La Casa di Moda box on top of the suit.

The weather had made a turn toward fall last night. It was a bit cooler so I decided on my favorite navy blue hoodie. It had a great big white C surrounded by yellow with Berkeley above and Bears below. My alma mater. I always felt better when I wrapped myself in my own history. It was starting to look a bit used, but I didn't have the heart to replace it. It was my favorite piece of clothing.

It was after the morning rush so I made good time downtown. I entered the Brindle Building, now wary of errant coffee carriers, and headed up to the eighth floor. Themes Publishing looked like it took up the entire northeast corner of the building. They had a nice glass entryway with their stylish logo embossed on the glass door. The reception desk was empty. Behind the desk, in a large open meeting area, people were gathered cheering and tapping paper cups together, drinking in celebration. I walked up to the reception desk and waited to be noticed. I smiled at their jubilation.

"No way!" exclaimed a young man in a yellow shirt with a loosened bronze tie. He was looking directly at me and took me by surprise. The other heads turned with smiles and a few dropped jaws. I felt like I was the butt of some unknown joke. I found myself taking a small step back and losing my smile.

"Janice, did you do this?" the young man's smile enlarged as he yelled out. Some of the people were moving slowly toward me. I turned my head, hoping to see some other object that could be the center of their attention. I was alone, now holding the La Casa di Moda box with both hands against my chest, almost like a shield.

"Do what?..." This was from a red-haired woman who entered the main room from an office. She was thumbing through a stack of papers with a concerned look.

"Hire a 'Melissa,' " the man said, pointing toward me. Janice looked up and studied me. I thought it best to end the confusion.

"Hi, ah, I'm Mary Higgins." I stumbled a bit with my words. "I am just trying to return a package to Richard Thompson." I held up the La Casa di Moda box to prove my intent. Everyone was staring and my comfort level was decreasing rapidly. Janice looked down at the papers in her hand and back at me and my suit box. Her expression changed to one of concern.

"You're the girl he spilled the coffee on?" Janice asked with wide eyes.

"Yes. Well, it was really my fault and I am trying to apologize," I replied innocently, holding up the box, "he sent me this as some kind of apology and it is way too much. I really need to give it back." All the smiles disappeared and confusion seemed to reign.

"Oh my God! Do you even know who Melissa is?" Janice asked with a panicked expression.

"I don't know who you are talking about. Look, Richard is just my neighbor." I went into defense mode. I had no idea what was going on, but I didn't want another incident I would regret. "I think I was out of line the other day and I want to make it right." Janice looked back at the papers in her hand.

"Tom, do you know where Richard is?" Janice inquired of the young man with the bronze tie.

"One of his houses. He never tells me where he goes," Tom answered with a frustrated tone. The notion Richard owned multiple houses caught me by surprise.

"Find him quickly. I just got his new chapters and Adam Westlake is practically suicidal. Seems Melissa took a shot at him," Janice exclaimed while staring daggers at me. Tom looked shocked and ran to what I guessed was his desk. Everyone else began to scatter to theirs.

"Look, I'll just leave this here," I said judiciously while placing the suit box on the receptionist's desk, "it has a note it in it. Just tell him I'm sorry." I wanted out. I had no idea what was going on and I really didn't want to know. I turned and tried to escape.

"Mary, wait!" Janice called to halt my progress, "there is something you need to know." I turned, but continued my slow escape backward. Janice was walking quickly toward me. I saw nothing but a new problem in her eyes. Coffee was now my least favorite thing in the world.

"I really don't understand what's going on, and, in truth, I don't want to understand," I shot back almost frantically. Janice stopped in her tracks when she realized how confused and upset I was.

"You changed your hair about a year ago, didn't you?" Janice asked calmly, "and that hoodie, it's your favorite, isn't it?" Numerous heads popped up from behind desks. Obviously, others were also interested in my answers. I stopped. "Purple is your favorite color, you prefer your meat well done and you love romance novels." I stared dumbfounded at her revelations.

"What's..going on?" I muttered.

"It seems Richard has been writing about you. His descriptions are quite vivid," Janice explained with the beginnings of a smile. I didn't think anything was funny.

"And you all read his stuff?" I asked, looking at all the interested faces waiting for my reaction. Janice laughed, followed by a room full of suppressed smirks and chuckles. My anger was beginning to rise. I felt like I was the butt of some joke again.

"Half the nation has read his work, Honey," Tom answered from behind his desk, "we were just celebrating him crossing the seventy-five million mark." The way he said 'honey' made me question his manners and his orientation. I never heard of Richard Thompson outside the apartment building and no one can sell that many books and not be known.

"He writes under a nom de plume," Janice answered my unasked question. I was trying to remember if I ever had a real conversation with Richard. We had some summer building parties, but I don't remember him attending any. I was slowly moving back toward the La Casa di Moda box.

"Under what name?" I inquired as I slowly tucked the box under my arm. Richard was obviously wealthy and the suit looked really good on me. Maybe returning it wasn't necessary. I resigned myself to try to hand it back personally, once. If he remained chivalrous, I wouldn't give him a second chance.

"Confidentially?" Janice looked at me and I nodded. "Donald Rickers," she answered. Wealthy was an understatement. I decided to keep the suit. I would justify it in my mind later.

"THE Donald Rickers?" I queried, "why would he write about me? Better yet, WHAT does he write about me?"

"Yes, THE Donald Rickers. Maybe you would like to read a bit and we could figure this out," Janice suggested and gestured to her office. I put a death grip on the suit box and determined I might as well figure out how I ended up with the suit. I followed Janice to her office and sat in one of her leather chairs that surrounded a small coffee table. Janice poked her head out of the office and yelled to Tom, "Tell me as soon as you find him." She shut the door and handed me the papers she had been holding.

"This just arrived. It's rough, but it usually goes through a few rewrites," Janice said and, with a bit of accusation in her tone, continued, "this is quite different from his previous works. It seems God's Flower has some thorns."

"What's God's flower?" I asked as I looked at the printed pages. There must have been over forty of them.

"You, if I don't miss my guess." Janice sat next to me and gestured for me to read. "He called Melissa that the first time Adam Westlake saw her at the botanical garden. He kept it running through the last four of his novels. To Richard's readers, you're a mystery. You keep popping up and yanking at Adam's heart strings, then you disappear. You're Adam Westlake's 'kryptonite.' It's the only time he doesn't think straight."

"Adam Westlake?" I asked, looking up from the pages.

"The hero of Richard's novels," Janice answered with a puzzled look, "you really haven't heard about any of this before?"

"No," I replied, "I am a little weirded out about the whole thing. I mean, Richard hasn't said much past hello to me in five years. Why would he pick me?"

"Just read those pages and tell me what you think," Janice said, then added, "I have to say I am a little concerned. I think the coffee incident hit him harder than I had thought." I cringed at her words. I felt bad enough about it already. That damn shiver of regret came back in full force. Janice headed out of the office to give me some peace.

I was five pages in when I felt I was looking in a mirror. His descriptions were highly detailed. I blushed at the good parts and cringed at the flaws. To him, they weren't flaws. Even the little indentation high above my left eye, the one I thought my hair hid, he found strangely enticing. I was secretly pleased with the way Adam loved the way my hair cascaded to my shoulders. I nearly choked when he described my favorite navy blue skirt as 'must have been borrowed.' My God! He only saw me for a total of thirty seconds that day and even he saw it was too tight. I swore I would get back on my exercise program and I was definitely keeping the 'Arturo Carducci.'

The strange reference to God's Flower appeared as he described seeing me from across the room in a dingy coffee house. I had no previous context, but it seemed Adam was shocked Melissa reappeared after a long absence. His joy was quite surprising, sparking memories of dalliances, warm kisses and nights on the town. No one had ever described me, not that Richard knew, in such a titillating way. I felt invaded and not confident I could live up to those descriptions. I was blushing by the time Richard stopped the flashbacks and returned to the book's present.

Chapter Two took a strange turn. Adam Westlake stood to get Melissa's attention, too quickly it seems, and knocked over his cup of coffee. Melissa seemed surprised to see Adam. She stood, backed away and drew a revolver. Amidst the screams and panic of patrons in the coffee shop, Melissa fired three shots at Adam who stood in shock. Melissa left at a run, never knowing she had missed Adam. The next chapter delved deeply into Adam's psyche - the ensuing depression and the drinking it caused. There was a drunken walk across a bridge when Adam contemplated where his life was going. Melissa had been his one connection to a possible happy future and that was now shattered. The words were so dark, I didn't expect Adam to make it to the other side of the bridge.

I felt ill as I turned over the last page. Richard had some kind of fixation. I think he saw a relationship where none existed. I handled the coffee accident so poorly that I damaged him. I didn't think I could feel worse. I saw the illusionary relationship in his words. The spilled coffee and the 'You Asshole!' turned into three shots. As a human being, I had failed.

"Well, what do you think?" Janice was leaning on the door frame with her arms crossed. I looked up and couldn't stop the water in my eyes.

"I think I hurt him," I stammered, "...I really hurt him." I felt a tear and wiped it away quickly. How could I have been so uncaring as to attack such a fragile man. I no longer wanted the 'Arturo Carducci.'

"Look, I know all this caught you by surprise," Janice said in a motherly tone, "Richard feels things a little too deeply. It makes him a wonderful writer, but difficult in person. Maybe if you spoke with him. Told him you're not upset." I could tell she was trying to get her cash cow back on track. I wondered how much she cared about Richard personally. Then again, how much feeling could someone really invest in such an uncommunicative person.

"That's just it," I defended myself, "I have been trying to apologize. It was just an accident. I blew it out of proportion. I've been making myself sick just thinking about it. This just makes it worse." I shook the incomplete manuscript at Janice.

"If I could get you in touch with Richard, would you apologize?" Janice queried. I sensed she wanted to make sure I wasn't going to make matters worse.

"Of course. For my well-being and his," I answered. I wasn't sure I liked Janice. If she could get me in touch with Richard, I could tolerate her scheming.

"Good." Janice smiled with a little too much relief for my taste. "Tom found out he is at his condo in San Antonio. He isn't answering his phone so you will have to fly down there." My jaw dropped to the floor. This woman presumes too much.

"I have a job," I said incredulously, "do you think I can just drop everything and take a trip?" I was about to mention my nearly empty bank account wouldn't appreciate the purchase of last-minute plane tickets. I decided my finances were none of her concern.

"For Richard, yes," Janice declared. I saw the determination in her eyes. I also sensed a bit a fear in her tone. "Tomorrow is Friday. Call in sick or something. We'll take care of all the arrangements, plane, hotel and food. You just make sure Richard knows you aren't upset with him and we'll have you back on Sunday." Richard and I were being handled. Richard may be used to it, but I was not.

"It was only spilled coffee," I insisted, "this orchestrated apology is way over the top and seems disingenuous. I can just wait until he returns."

"Knowing Richard, he may not be back." Janice didn't seem like she was exaggerating. "He tends to blow things out of proportion inside his mind. I wouldn't be surprised if it takes years for him to come back. Looking at those chapters, it wouldn't shock me if Melissa was written out of Adam's life forever." I had no idea why her last sentence struck me as hard as it did. Thirty minutes ago, I had no idea anyone was writing about me. Now I found it endearing and a little flattering. Damn my ego. I didn't want Melissa to die or something.

"You'll take care of the expenses?" I asked with trepidation. I hated having to admit I was basically living paycheck to paycheck.

"Yes." Janice was smiling again. "We'll take care of everything. You can clear your conscience and Richard will get back to his normal writing." I could tell Richard's writing was at the top of her to-do list. My conscience was a non-issue. She will have to excuse me for reversing the priority. We just had to accept we were using each other.

"Well, okay. I guess I am going to San Antonio," I stated with little confidence.

It took Clara about thirty minutes to establish my itinerary according to Janice's specifications. I only needed to get myself to the airport the next morning. Janice was going to have a car pick me up, but I ended that, thinking the handling was going too far. Janice would have been happier if she could have borrowed my skin and apologized herself. I had a nagging feeling she was expecting me to screw it all up.

I was happily surprised to share a ride down the elevator with Beth. I didn't really think I would ever see her again.

"You ever get that interview?" Beth asked pleasantly. I was happy she left out the coffee spill.

"No. I tried to reschedule, but they had already offered the position to someone else." I put a fake smile on my loss. "Karma for my lack of decorum."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Betty replied, "the timing was just bad. Give it a few weeks and you'll be laughing about it." I really liked how she judged the situation and not me. My friends are a lot harsher and I didn't need harsh right now. I unloaded the string of events, leaving out the best-selling author part. She listened intently.

"When you finally catch up with him, I hope he appreciates your efforts," Betty stated, "if not, then maybe he is an asshole." I laughed and felt better. I may never see Betty again, we didn't exactly trade numbers, but she was the friend I needed at the time.

<<<<>>>>>

I had never flown first class in my life. I think Janice had sensed my apprehension and decided to make sure I was as comfortable as possible. I wasn't used to being pampered, but felt I could get used to it. I spent the flight time learning about Adam Westlake. I didn't start at the beginning. I started on the novel where Adam first met Melissa. Melissa was prettier than I am. I sensed that right away. She was also much more confident. I liked her better than I liked myself.

Richard's description of Melissa the first time Adam saw her was beautiful. Almost loving in his word usage. If this, in any way, reflected how he saw me, the coffee incident must have ripped him apart. I had to be careful he understood my apology for what it was. I didn't want him thinking it meant anything more. I had to admit that I loved his words. Especially the ones describing me, I mean Melissa.

There was a limo waiting to pick me up. Ralph, my black-suited driver, carried my luggage and opened doors for me. Janice was truly going all out. You feel pretty special when a livery-capped man is holding up a sign with your name on it at baggage claim. I tried to tip him at the hotel and he refused politely, "Themes Publishing has been more than generous, Ms. Higgins." I was being handled by professionals.

The hotel was flush against the River Walk. I had never been to San Antonio, but Ralph had filled me in on the way. By his tone, I suspected the hotel was high class and the place to be. The River Walk held an impressive array of restaurants and small shops below street level. "You won't even know you're in the middle of a city," Ralph stated with pride. My room overlooked the River Walk with a balcony that allowed me to lean over and people watch. The room itself was about three stars more than I could ever hope to afford. I felt like a queen the way everyone was scurrying about making sure I was comfortable. My wardrobe suddenly didn't feel up to the standards of my new image.

Janice called while I was sitting on the balcony, nursing a glass of wine the staff insisted I try. The bottle it came from was probably more expensive than my car payment. I was trying to think about what I was going to tell Richard when I knocked on his door.

"I'm glad you arrived safely." Janice hurried through the greeting like it was an afterthought. "Do you think you could talk with Richard tonight?" It really didn't sound like a question. I was about to get angry. I looked at the wine, down at the River Walk and thought about the pampering. She may be pushy, but she made sure I felt like I owed her.

"Yes, I was just trying to get my words straight," I answered, "I don't want him to get the wrong idea.

"Don't worry about that," Janice continued, ignoring my concerns, "just make sure he knows you don't hate him. It's the rejection that tears him up." Hate him? He couldn't possibly think I hated him. I assumed he was thinking I was only angry. Maybe I was crueler than I thought. My stomach churned a bit.

"I don't hate him!" I declared forcibly.

"I know you don't." Janice's tone was calmer, like she was soothing a child. "We just need to make sure he knows that." I decided dealing with Janice was not my favorite thing. Only my mother is allowed to talk down to me like Janice does. I sucked it up since this would all be over soon. My conscience healed and Janice will have her author back.

"Okay, I'll make sure he knows," I conceded against my better judgment. I promised to leave for his place in a few minutes and cordially ended the call. There was no way I could ever work for someone like Janice. I wondered how everyone at Theme Publishing could stand it.

It was a pleasant walk, about three blocks, along the River Walk. The buildings I passed all had their own unique architecture. Unique, but each fit well with the comfortable atmosphere the walk engendered. I passed at least three restaurants that teased my nose. I hadn't realized I was hungry until the smell of searing meat and boiled crab watered my mouth. The sun hadn't gone down yet so the crowds were still of the tourist variety. Mostly gawkers like me. I was sure nighttime would bring out more locals.