The Muse

"I don't want to cause you pain," I professed, "I don't like to see you hurting."

"I can take a little pain as long as you're there with me," Richard confessed, "you're good for me. Janice knows it, I know it and I sure hope you know it." I smiled at his trust. I wished the world could see Richard as I saw him. Handsome, confident and oh so loving.

"I will be there, always," I said confidently.

"And I for you," Richard said absently, "I would run through a burning building to get to you." I knew he meant it. He was my fireman.

The weeks that followed were some of the best in my life. Richard stayed in town and we enjoyed each other fully. Wilkerson's threw me a going away party that had me in tears, good tears. Themes welcomed me with open arms. I had my own office, it was my first, and what everyone thought was a humorous desk nameplate. On one side it said 'Mary Higgins' and on the other it said 'Melissa.' I kept it on the 'Mary' side unless the day was stressful. Then I would turn it to the 'Melissa' side. Melissa was known to carry a gun.

Any thoughts of this being some kind of patronage job went out the window the first day. Janice inundated me with marketing information. By the end of the first week, I knew exactly where Richard's books stood in the marketplace. The competition was as fierce as any other product line. The battle for product placement in a store as well as online was bloody. Richard's, or Rickers', new novels were easy to place at the forefront. It was keeping them there that was the difficult job. Targeting that new reader and getting him or her hooked was the challenge. I was in marketing heaven.

Richard, as Donald Rickers, signed a copy of his newest book for me. I wanted to keep my promise to Bob for his discretion. Richard had signed a few before, but had no desire to try for a full-fledged book signing - way too many people. The inscription was nice 'Thanks for being a friend to Mary. Sincerely, Donald Rickers.' I kissed him in payment and dropped by Wilkerson's to deliver it to Bob.

"Oh my God!" Bob exclaimed. He was way more excited than I had expected. "Do you have any idea how much this is worth? I mean, I would never sell it, but thank you so much." I thought he would jump out of his pants.

"It's just a signature, Bob." I smiled, thankful I could return his favor.

"This is rare, Mary. Really rare," Bob whispered reverently, "he doesn't sign anything. I should know, he's my favorite author. The blogs are always buzzing when anything of his shows up. Which is practically never. Very rare indeed." My marketing brain kicked in. I almost ran back to work.

I spoke with Janice and watched her face light up. "Do you think he would do it?" she asked.

"Of course he would," I answered, "it could help the world, get free press and maintain his anonymity. I would need some kind of authenticity document on Themes letterhead - your signature would help."

Richard and I spent the evening researching our first test. He thought the idea would never bear fruit, but he loved me and played along. It took us about two hours to find something that appealed to Richard. A charity fundraiser for a children's hospital. They were going to have an auction in two weeks.

I spent the next day on the phone organizing our donation. Janice had a first edition, leather-bound version of Richard's first novel. Richard came in the next day and hand wrote an inscription and added his signature. We developed a gold leaf certificate and had every department head and Janice sign it after witnessing Richard signing. No one was allowed to see the inscription - that was Richard's idea. He used a ribbon to close the book and tie it shut. I liked the mystery. Richard just liked to tease Janice who was in a panic that his inscription might be inappropriate.

The hospital agreed to accept the donation for the auction. Richard just sneered and said they would be lucky to get a hundred bucks. Janice insisted I wear the Berkeley hoodie when I dropped off the book. It was a black tie affair, and I was planning on wearing a nice dress to make the delivery. We went back and forth until I gave in. Since I was going to drop it off before any of the guests arrived, it made little difference whether Melissa or I dropped it off.

The afternoon of the event, Janice hired a limousine to deliver the book. I told her it was over the top, but she was insistent. She walked me out to the limo while congratulating me for thinking out of the box. I stepped in while she held the door for me. Suspicions that I was being buttered up for something began to surface.

"By the way, there may be a few cameras there. So smile," Janice said and quickly closed the door. The driver headed into traffic before I could respond. Anger is the first thing you feel when someone takes you for a ride. The second emotion is revenge. I pulled out my phone and called her. She was waiting.

"What do you mean there will be cameras?" I grimaced.

"Now sweetie, it was your idea. I just added a few touches." Janice's voice was all flowery.

"Janice, I thought we talked about things first." I moved to my commanding voice. The one most people ignore.

"Four hundred seventy-six dollars and seventeen cents," Janice responded.

"What?"

"Your room service bill," Janice laughed, "I'm just having my fun now." The line went dead. Richard teases Janice and Janice teases me. How did I let myself get in the middle of those two? I sat in the stew of my own making and plotted my revenge. I would have to enlist Richard; he had the most devious mind.

Janice lied when she used the term 'a few.' There were at least ten cameras, maybe more. There was also video being taken. I was going to have to spend some serious thought as to how to get her back. The red carpet had never been in my dreams. I never saw myself on a runway and felt fairly uncomfortable. The chauffeur was moving way too quickly around the car to open my door. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I felt my heart pumping hard. I imagined this as a smaller version of what Richard feels. No wonder he found it hard to breathe.

The door opened and I stepped out with the small wooden chest we had constructed to contain the book. I smiled as best I could, trying not to trip and fall as I self-consciously walked up the steps to the hall. Cameras were going off left and right. I knew video was being taken. I also knew I hated Janice right then. I dismissed the silly dream of becoming an actress - no way could I put up with the pressure.

A man in a tuxedo was waiting at the top of the stairs, smiling. Damn, they wanted me to do this outside. I was hoping we could go inside, behind a few doors. I heard someone call "Melissa" from behind the cameras. Oh great, Richard's fans were here. I smiled and waved, trying desperately not to trip on my own feet. It is really difficult to walk when you're thinking about walking. About a year later, I reached the top of the steps. The man in the tux was almost laughing.

"Janice said you would enjoy this," the man said quietly, out of earshot of the crowd. I gritted my teeth while trying to hold my smile.

"Janice is dead to me right now," I said sarcastically. He laughed and took the box from my hands. He turned me around and put his arm around my waist. We posed for a few more pictures and he thanked me as Melissa, loudly and clearly. My five minutes of fame seemed like a decade by the time I was finally back in the car.

The driver must have pushed a button because a small cache opened with a chilled bottle of wine, a couple of wine glass and a note. I opened the note and it simply said 'Thank you, Janice.' I didn't hate her anymore. I did drink her wine, and was still contemplating revenge.

The book auctioned for just over thirteen thousand dollars. Janice's little show had increased the hype. There was a lot of money at the event and the book was one of the most unique items. The winning bidder, a stock-broker, broke the ribbon and read the inscription.

Your gift will touch many small hearts and warmly wrap mine.

Thank you for being so human. Donald Rickers

I knew all this because we made the late news. The internet went wild as Richard's fans clamored for information. Richard was floored. I was self-critical, looking at my large butt climbing stairs on the news. Someone should have told me those pants didn't look good on me. Richard assured me it was my imagination. I kissed him and decided to toss the pants.

Janice was ecstatic the next morning. She was waving the morning paper at me. Melissa made the society page and so did the winning bidder. We had also received a mention on a national morning show, 'The Sunrise.' The reclusive Donald Rickers was the angle. We had buzz and a lot of it. Richard, through Themes, matched the winning bid. He tried to do it quietly, but it leaked anyway.

The following day brought the biggest surprise, 'The Sunrise' wanted to interview Melissa. Their studios were in the city, only a few blocks away from Themes. "Mary, over eighty percent of their viewers are women," Janice championed the go ahead.

"I was scared to death just delivering the book. What do you think I would like on TV?" I was definitely in the 'no' category.

"Look, there won't be any surprises on this one. You know what you're getting into and your so-called miserable walk was a resounding success." Janice was, of course, all for it. She was a numbers person. If it raises our sales by one percent, then it must be a good thing. "You would look phenomenal on TV. I can't think of anyone better to represent Richard." She was good. Reminding me this was for Richard was no accident and I knew it.

"All I had to do before was walk, now you want me to talk," I argued.

"We'll coach you on what not to say and then hold practice sessions to make you sound fluid," Janice continued the hard sell, "I have all the confidence in the world in you. I wouldn't have agreed otherwise."

"You already told them yes!" I was a little perturbed.

"Just a tentative yes, nothing is set in stone," Janice countered, "think of what this could do for us, for Richard." She was using my love against me.

"Arrggh!" I grunted at Janice. I was running out of useful words and I knew I was going to go. I just wanted to make sure she knew it was on her if this turned into a disaster. She smiled when she recognized my surrender.

The coaching was brutal. I had two days to prepare and Janice was leaving no stone unturned. The basic rule was to get Richard out of the conversation and I have no idea who Donald Rickers is. By the end of the two days, I was really good at deflecting probing questions. The toughest one was why I looked so much like Melissa. My pat answer was 'It was just a coincidence and one of the reasons I was hired by Themes. I had my hair done to match.' I tried to tell Janice I was really bad liar. She insisted that with practice it wouldn't seem like a lie. I had naively thought marketing was a bit more ethical. I justified it by convincing myself they were harmless lies to protect Richard.

The absolute worst part was seeing myself all over the TV. They were pushing the spot heavily using the book delivery footage. Every time I saw the commercial, I cringed. I wanted to be the person who hired the spokesperson, not be the spokesperson. It's for Richard, I kept telling myself. Somehow it kept coming back, 'it's for Janice.'

Of course I had trouble sleeping the night before the show. Stress did that to me. This time I had Richard to hold me which made it more comfortable. He kept nodding off, then wake with a start at my tossing. He would just smile, pull me closer and stroke my hair before he would drift off again. He was utterly satisfied with me in the bed, asleep or not.

"I'm going with you," Richard said as I finished donning my Melissa uniform. I was really going to have to get a new hoodie if this type of thing was going to continue.

"That's kind of risky, don't you think?" I asked concerned.

"Naw, no one will figure it out." Richard seemed confident. "You're stressed and exhausted, I'm not letting you go alone. I am sure they have a room I can wait in." I moved into his arms and kissed his cheek.

"I would like that," I admitted. Knowing he was going made me feel better. I only had about four hours sleep total.

We arrived at 'The Sunrise' studios two hours early as the producer had demanded. We were ushered into a room where an assistant producer prepped us on how things would work. She told Richard he could wait in the room during the show, monitoring it from the screen on the wall. He gave me a quick kiss and wished me luck as I was moved on to makeup.

Fear was growing as my time slot approached. I was in one of those situations where I really wished I said no. I know I would have regretted it, but it had to be better than the butterflies trying to eat their way out of my stomach. I took deep breaths and smiled at the show's celebrities as they were introduced to me. Having non-nervous people tell you that you don't need to be nervous is next to useless. I just kept running through what I was going to say, trying to keep it at the front of my mind. Five minutes before I was supposed to go out, I was introduced to my interviewer, Stacy Phillips.

"I'm good at what I do," Stacy gave me her TV smile as she spoke, "I'll ask questions and you just have to answer. I'll keep the conversation going, just relax and enjoy it." I only felt slightly better, but I smiled anyway and took more deep breaths. I really wished I had said no.

I was ushered out on set and took one of the leather seats. I had to shift my ass a bit to accommodate the microphone transmitter they had clipped to my pants. I was as ready as I would ever be as the guy next to the camera began counting down. My own personal doom clock.

"I am here with Mary Higgins or, as you Donald Rickers' fans would know, Melissa," Stacy said with a smooth delivery. I envied her calm. "She made her first appearance while delivering a rare signed Donald Rickers first edition for the children's hospital charity auction. Tell me Mary, did you ever think it would fetch thirteen thousand?" The morning show spots were quick, we had skipped right to the questions, by-passing the hellos.

"No, Stacy, we were as surprised as everyone else." 'Smooth,' I thought to myself. "Donald's fans have always been incredibly supportive, but that kind of generosity was more than we ever expected." I didn't stumble over my words. I was inwardly proud of myself.

"From what I have read, preparing for this interview, you look astonishingly like Melissa, the mysterious love of Adam Westlake in Donald Rickers' novels." I knew the hard questions were coming. I saw it in Stacy's eyes as she spoke. "Did Donald base the character on you?" I smiled, trying to put a little humor in my answer.

"If it were only true," I lied smoothly, "no, it's only a coincidence. I am sure there are a thousand other women just like me. I was just fortunate enough to be chosen to represent her." It sounded good and I was feeling better.

"So, have you met the reclusive Donald Rickers? Can you tell us who he is?" Stacy asked with a sly expression. Her eyes went from soft to those of a bird of prey. I was prepared for the question. Janice had made sure of that, but I didn't think how it was asked. I sensed I was being baited.

"No, that's a secret I'm not privy to," I lied again, "I am told he is a very private man." Stacy's smile turned almost evil. My fear was coming back.

"We did our own research and I have to tell you, Mary." Stacy seemed exceptionally pleased. I was panicking. "I don't think you're being wholly honest with me." I never was a good liar. I grabbed hold of the arms of the chair to stop my hands from shaking.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Stacy," I responded. My stomach was doing flip flops and I felt a bit dizzy.

"I am sure you remember Betty Simpson. She works in the same building you do." Stacy smiled as Betty walked onto the set and took a seat across from me. All the blood in my body rushed to my face. I was being ambushed. I didn't practice for this. Betty smiled at me with the same smile she used to calm me after the coffee incident. 'Sneaky bitch' was the thought that came to my mind. I hated being me at that moment. Stacy seemed to be in her own personal heaven.

"Betty seems to think you do know Donald Rickers," Stacy said with confidence, "and that you may be the one and only Melissa." I was suffocating. My heart was beating way too fast.

I sat in shock, trying to interject as Betty recounted the coffee incident. Things were falling apart in front of me and it was happening on a national broadcast. Stacy kept me out of the conversation and I wasn't strong enough to stop her. Betty had surmised my connection to Richard, she knew he lived in my apartment building because I told her. She knew he was involved in Themes Publishing because she had shared an elevator with him in the past. I watched her ruin me step by step, putting the pieces together on national TV.

"So I have to assume," Betty continued with pride, "Mary got her job because of the hot coffee, possibly threatening a lawsuit" Stacy looked back to me with her winning smile.

"Is that true, Mary?" Stacy asked, looking at me with a victor's smile, "is Donald Rickers' real name Richard, and are you blackmailing him?" I stared. I had lost all control of the situation. I felt like a child facing her parents after breaking the lamp. I was in an incredible amount of internal pain. I wanted to run.

I stumbled for words, I couldn't put together a coherent sentence. The world knew I was lying. "Maybe we can get that answer when we come back." Stacy smiled at the camera as its red light went dark, indicating a commercial break. I couldn't speak, couldn't even yell my hatred at what they had done. My heart was going to explode as tears began to form. I couldn't stay any longer. I had ruined everything. I stood, turned quickly and started to run.

I was caught by a strong set of arms, only a few feet from my chair. "I've got you," Richard said softly. I folded myself into him and began to cry. "I'll give you five minutes if she leaves," Richard said forcibly to Stacy while pointing at Betty. I could feel his muscles tense, holding my shaking body. He was visibly angry.

"And who are you?" Stacy asked with indignation.

"Richard Thompson a.k.a. Donald Rickers," Richard stated, "and I expect an on-air apology." Stacy whispered something to one of the assistants and Betty was shuffled off the set grumbling about still wanting her money. I fed on Richard's anger. "Get me a damn tissue!" he ordered. I had never seen him in king mode. I didn't know he had a king mode.

"I love you," Richard whispered as he wiped the tears from my eyes, "I couldn't watch them do that to you - I had to come."

"I think I've ruined everything," I stuttered, trying to drink in his hazel eyes. The strength I needed was in them.

"You have ruined nothing," Richard said lovingly, "we will fix this and anything else that's thrown our way." I loved the word 'we' more than anything else right then. I kissed him, really kissed him. I heard a gasp from behind me and ignored it.

Someone yelled "fifteen seconds" and I knew I had to straighten up. Richard was quickly fitted with a microphone and we took our seats next to each other.

"It seems we owe you an apology, Mary," Stacy said solemnly when the red lights went back on, "we blindsided you with incomplete research and for that we are sorry." I liked the way Richard used 'we' better. Stacy should have used 'I.' I nodded instead of verbally accepting, since I didn't trust my voice.