Love Isn't as Easy as the Books

Part 2

Freen finished the book in record time. She still had two more hours on her flight to Moscow. And currently she was frustrated, in more than one way.

She was sexually frustrated because at some point she started reading the book in the first person and she was having a hard time separating the fact from the fiction from her sexually explicit imagination, and none of which was helping since it would be wildly inappropriate to go to the bathroom to get herself off. Wouldn't it? It was a company plane, not a personal one. And her company was having lots of issues with her family and their personal business, and there'd be nothing more personal that masturbating in the bathroom of the company plane.

Then she was regularly frustrated in general because the author Marsha Blackwood, or perhaps this Becky woman Freen fucked for four days, was almost impossible to find.

She never gave an interview, never had a picture in the back of any of her books, and as best as Freen could tell, she didn't really exist. It was a pretty obvious nom de plume, but still...

Freen considered calling the club, but she couldn't remember the name of it to save her life, and she was pretty sure that Becky ditched three days worth of shifts to stay in bed with Freen. So that probably got her fired.

Although she did send an email to the publishing house that printed all of the Blackwood books, but all she got in response was a token, "We respect the wishes of the author, in this case anonymity." The only thing that surprised her was the fact that she got a response at 1am New York time.

It looked like she only had one option left if she wanted to meet Miss Blackwood, or as it happened, meet again (unless this Becky woman wasn't Blackwood and just a close friend who happened to over share). She pulled up her lawyer and accountant's emails. Briefly she considered suing the publishing house for libel, but that would only put her under scrutiny and make her sexual history even more public that it was already. That was something she was very against.

Besides, owning her own publishing company could be fun. Also expensive. Then again, what's the point of owning a multi-billion dollar company and being on the Forbes 500 riches people list if you don't spend it?

With orders to try and buy GAP Publishing, and after doing as much research as she possibly could manage with a laptop on a plane on the wrong side of the dateline, Freen settled back into her cushy leather seat and opened the book again.

She almost forgot about what they did in the hot tub. God, the repair bill was almost ten grand. But it was totally worth it.

The memory of going down on Becky and then having her accidentally rip one of the faucets out of the wall and partially flooding the room would be the memory that would keep her warm in the dark, lonely, Moscow hotel room that night.

Meanwhile, in a hemisphere away, Becky had been in Thunder Bay for a couple of weeks. She'd been making her way east for a couple of months. All the way from Victoria to her ultimate destination in New York City.

Four months ago she'd packed up all her stuff in her busted ass van, all of her worldly possessions, Fluffy the half-polar bear half-dog all best friend, and moved. Now she was sitting there in her shit apartment in Thunder Bay, staring at her typewriter.

She had gotten tired of her bartending nights, writing days. Sure she was close to her parents and whatnot, but life had felt so static there. Becky was listless there, it was hard to describe. The kind of manic energy and the pendulum swinging back into grey fog of depression. The city was suffocating.