Page 4 of The Write Track
The woman looked relieved. “Oh, I wondered. I’ve read your bio a few times, and it said you were a lesbian. I thought maybe that was just for show or something.”
“Not for show.” Hayley shook her head. “Nathan and I met last summer during a series of author events. He’s pretty much insufferable, and I’m the only person who will hang out with him. I feel sorry for him, and since he just moved to The Landings, I figured I would sit with him for lunch so he wouldn’t be completely alone and look like a loser.”
I gave her a measured look. “Do you really want to start playingthatgame?” I demanded. “You know I always win when we play that game.”
She ignored me. “We haven’t even ordered yet,” she said to the woman. “We’ll be here a long time because Nathan just got a new haircut, and there’s nothing he likes more than talking about himself.”
She wasn’t wrong. But it was still grating to hear.
“Keep it up.”
The woman had zero interest in me. None. Hayley was clearly her hero, because when my friend said she would still be here to sign the book, the woman’s smile spread so wide it eclipsed the sun.
“Thank you so much.” The woman let loose a weird sound, something between a shriek and a giggle, then she took off, waving at her friends before heading toward the door.
“This feels wrong,” I lamented as I watched her go. “You don’t even live here, and yet you already have a fan in my community. That’s all sorts of wrong.”
Hayley made a face. “I live in downtown Savannah, which is better than this bougie community by a long shot. We have actual culture there.”
“Your version of culture and mine are vastly different.”
She ignored the dig. “I still can’t believe you moved here.” She looked around the tavern and shook her head. “It’s so ostentatious. I don’t get it.” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “Is it because you now have your own golf cart to drive around? Is that the appeal of this place?”
I shrugged. “The golf cart doesn’t hurt. Mine is awesome. You have to admit it.”
“Yes, I like the big snake you had put on the hood. Do you have any idea how phallic that is? Any woman with sense is going to take a look at the size of the cobra and assume you’re overcompensating for something.”
Was that true? I hadn’t even considered it. “I didn’t get the snake because of the whole penis thing.” My frown was pronounced. “My new book involves an infestation of irradiated snakes taking over Arizona. I thought it would serve as free advertising.”
Hayley’s smile slipped as she considered it. I thought she might apologize—she rarely went that route but occasionally made the effort—but then she shook her head. “How did the snakes get irradiated?”
It was a wonder Hayley and I were friends. She had almost zero imagination, which should have been the kiss of death for an author. But she was one of those people who spent all of her time thinking up stories. It took her two months to come up with one outline, and the people in her stories never did anything wild or out of the ordinary.
I, on the other hand, was sitting on a pile of outlines I would never get to. Whenever I saw a story about a crazy murder or animal attack, my mind instantly went to how I could turn it into a book. The wilder, the better. My stories had no basis in reality. Well, except for the emotions of my characters. Those were always real, no matter the wacky circumstances.
“There was a meltdown at a nuclear power plant,” I replied.
“Did you check to make sure there is an actual nuclear power plant in Arizona?”
Of course that would be what worried her.
“Yes, not that it matters. Pablo Verde Generating Station is there. I made up the one I used in the book, though.”
“Why would you make it up if there was a real one?”
This was our big problem. She followed every line logically. I zigged and zagged all over the place.
“Because, believe it or not, if you use a real place and then create a storyline in which they’re inept, they don’t tend to like it.”
“Oh.” She nodded sagely. “You don’t want to get sued.”
“That would be part of it,” I readily agreed. “It’s also just easier.”
The server picked that moment to take our orders.
“Ladies first,” I teased Hayley.
She gave me a sneer but dove right in. She complained nonstop about The Landings being bougie but ate here—with me and one of our other author friends, Bree James—as often as humanly possible.
