Title: About The Author
Author: Emily Lawrence
Summary: Nona Rossi just wants to be left alone to do what she loves, but other people have plans for her – plans she could never even dream of. RayK romance.
Rating: Not sure yet. Nothing too saucy in this chapter.
Chapter One
About The Author
Nona Rossi grew up between Ireland, London and Florence. She studied creative writing at the University of Cambridge and for a while, worked as a journalist. It did not suit her. Today, she divides her time between London and Italy.
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"So Miss Rossi, your new novel has received rave reviews from critics before it's even hit the shelves – what do you have to say about that?"
"Well, Candy-" I've been faking this smile for so long that I can no longer feel my cheeks. Who names their kid Candy anyway? Only in America ... "I'm so pleased the critics liked it, and I just hope the public do too." Chrissie, there will be serious repercussions for this...
"I'm sure they will. Now," Candy shifted closer to me on the ridiculously uncomfortable studio sofa. She lay a hand on my arm in a gesture that I assumed was meant to look intimate and conspiratorial "Let's get down to business. You're famous for being very private. In fact, you've written three novels and this is the first set of interviews you've ever done. Why the change of heart?"
Because I have a PR officer who sprung these on me at the last minute "It wasn't so much a change of heart, really. I simply decided that now was the time to make my presence felt. The reclusive writer part has been played to death, hasn't it?" It was all I could do not to start scrubbing at my skin. I felt so dirty. I glanced quickly – but I hoped meaningfully – at the corner of the studio where my PR officer/torturer Chrissie was watching the show. If she noticed my death glare she certainly didn't show it, sending me back a bug-eyed smile and a double thumbs-up.
Candy rolled her eyes "Totally. I mean, do these people think they're too good for us or something?" The studio audience responded enthusiastically and I fought the urge to smack the collagen right out of Candy's lips.
"So, Miss Rossi-"
"-Please, call me Nona."
"Nona. Without giving too much away about your new book, would you care to tell us a little about The Love of a Good Woman?"
"It's about a young detective who goes undercover within the mafia in order to gather intelligence. Her way in is to seduce one of the gang members and when it works, she gets in and begins to look around herself and starts questioning everything she ever believed in. She gets very close with another gang member and perhaps starts to fall in love. It's basically about these funny little grey areas in life you can find yourself in, the idea that things aren't necessarily as clear cut as we'd like them to be."
"Of course, of course..." Candy nodded sagely, as though she understood every word I'd said. I imagine she would have pretended to frown thoughtfully if she still had the use of her forehead "Nona Rossi, thank you so much for joining us today on Candy's Store." She turned back toward the camera, that great big smile plastered on her face "After the commercial break, we hear the story of an unusual partnership. Stay turned my lovely ladies..."
The audience clapped and fluttered reverentially as the red light above the studio door went off. They looked a lot more excited to hear about the next set of guests – it would appear that a gay couple's discovery of a hand or something on a trip through Canada was a bit more exciting than what I had to offer. Not that I cared. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, I slumped backwards onto the sofa, shifting uncomfortably in the hideous tan tights Chrissie had forced me to wear.
"Don't sit back!" one of the stage-hands hissed, putting a hand over her microphone headset "Candy doesn't like the cushions to be out of place!"
I sat up quickly and glared daggers at the stage-hand as she hurried off. Glancing around to check that nobody was watching, I began to rearrange the cushions on the sofa, throwing a few over the back into the wings for good measure.
"You know, I don't think you're going to find any spare change in that couch." I whirled around guiltily to see a good-looking man watching me and grinning. He lowered his voice and leaned forward "I hear Candy goes over it with a dust-buster after every show."
"Well, times are hard." I said solemnly "The Botox alone probably takes a huge chunk out of her budget."
"Yeah, but would you want her getting in front of the camera without it?" I hid a giggle behind my hand. He smiled at me "I'm Ray."
"Nona." We shook hands "Are you one of the next guests?" Please don't be one of the gay guys...
"Yeah," Damn "My partner's around here somewhere..."
"Who moved those cushions?" Screeched a voice "We are thirty seconds to air, people! Get it right!"Candy appeared from nowhere, a harassed looking stylist trailing behind her. I shot a terrified look at Ray "I should go."
He nodded vehemently "You really should." I hopped down from the stage and clattered across the studio to where Chrissie was stood, chain-smoking and talking on her mobile phone. Because of the UK smoking ban, whenever I found myself in a country where it was still OK to smoke in public places I always felt a vague sense of dystopia.
"Right, right, right... Fine, that's fine. Bye." Chrissie shut her phone with a click "Babes that was bloody fantastic! You were sex on legs up there! It was-"
"Chrissie, shut up. It was dire. You know it, I know it. The audience got more excited about that gay couple." I gestured toward the stage where Ray and his boyfriend were being seated and introduced to Candy. The partner was a Mountie of the tall dark and handsome variety. Both looked about as uncomfortable as I imagine I had.
"Hmm. Cute couple. What's their story?"
"I dunno. They found a hand or something on a trip around Canada. I wasn't paying a huge amount of attention."
Chrissie cast a disdainful eye at me, reaching out to grab my arm and pull me out of the way as a cameraman nearly bowled me over "You really need to stop sulking."
"Chrissie, I hate this."
"Well, tough." Chrissie brushed an imaginary speck of dust off her suit and gestured to the stage door "You can't carry on being the mysterious and secretive writer all your life. That sort of behaviour practically invites deranged fans, you know. Raising your profile overseas will help sales. Think of the money, darling." She rubbed an imaginary wad of cash between her thumb and forefinger "Besides, you're too beautiful to hide away. You look like the lovechild of Frank Sinatra and Sophia Loren."
"Um... thank you?"
"I mean you're old school beautiful. Vintage Hollywood. It's very in at the moment."
"What happens when it's out?" I grumbled quietly, trailing along behind her as she strode officiously down the corridors of Chicago's NBC tower "Do I get to go home?"
Chrissie had stopped listening. Instead, she had collared one of the less indolent looking stage hands and was enquiring when she could expect a recording of the show to be sent to our hotel.
I leaned against a wall and waited for her to finish reeling of her specifications. There was no denying that she was very good at her job. Of course, I had nothing to compare her too, having never had a press officer before. My publisher, Ed, had goaded me into hiring her after the publication of my last book. He'd actually been rather insistent about it. Chrissie had turned up quite unannounced at my London flat one rainy afternoon and since then it had been nothing but book signings and press releases. When she'd told me that there would be an overseas tour I had nearly hit the roof. We had just gotten back from the BBC, where some mad pair of TV presenters had gushed about the six pages of my book they had read on the way to the interview. Chrissie had ushered me into my flat and sat me down on the sofa. I was under the impression that all the interviews were over and thus had been lulled into a false sense of security. When Chrissie started waving the Business class tickets at me excitedly, I just sat staring bemusedly at her. For a moment, I thought she was proposing that we go on holiday together.
"No, darling," she sat down and explained to me patiently that I was booked to do a string of interviews and book signings in the states beginning three days later.
"What?" I had practically screeched. Chrissie simply stared at me, unperturbed from across the coffee table.
"Nona, this could be the difference between your book selling overseas or sitting in the back of a New England bookshop gathering dust. US sales have never been very high – we need to up your profile!" she said the last part with a flourish obviously designed to make it sound irresistible. I crossed my arms and stared at her. She hardened her gaze right back at me "It's no use getting all indignant, Nona. It's all already in place."
"But why?" I groaned "I don't care about profit. I make enough to live. Why can't I just go on doing that?"
"And deprive a large part of the world of your lovely writing? I simply won't hear of it." We both knew she was simply paying lip-service, trotting out a tired old sound-bite that she used with all her uncooperative charges. Chrissie stood to pour us both a drink from one of the crystal decanters on the sideboard. She handed me mine and I sat contemplating it sullenly. Resuming her perch on the opposite sofa and raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me, she allowed "If it makes you feel any better I can let you pretend to think about it."
"How do you know I won't go completely mental on one of these talk shows? Strip naked and start screaming about sea monkeys?"
"Because you're not that stupid. You know that making a spectacle of yourself will simply draw more attention to you."
I sighed laboriously in defeat "How long are we over there?"
Chrissie smiled her victory smile "Two weeks. Starting in San Francisco, ending in Chicago."
And that was how I ended up regurgitating the same tired old lines to eerily similar chat show hosts all over the United States of America for two solid weeks. Two solid weeks of Chrissie ushering me from hotel to car to television studio and back again in a whirl of bright pink lipstick and management speak. Two solid weeks that, I realised with a jolt of excitement, were almost over barring one long haul flight and the unfortunate effects of it. But even the prospect of industrial strength jet lag couldn't dampen my spirits now. I could go home.
"These bloody internship schemes," Chrissie was growling as we hurried out into the freezing cold Chicago air "They're completely incompetent but because they're free, there's thousands of them cluttering up corridors, not knowing anything and making shit coffee..." her tirade trailed off as we stared about us, looking for the town car that had been our main mode of transportation since arriving in Chicago.
"Well that's just bloody fantastic..." Chrissie fished her phone out of her Prada handbag and began jabbing at the numbers. Seeing where this was going and wanting to spare some other poor soul Chrissie's wrath, I put a soothing hand on her shoulder "Chrissie, don't worry. Look, there's a cab over there. Why don't we just take that?" I gestured to an empty taxi idling across the street. Chrissie bit her lip. If there was one thing she didn't like, it was a deviation from schedule "I don't know..."
"Come ooonnn," I knew I sounded like a whiny child but I didn't care. Chrissie was still thinking about it when I heard voices behind us.
"Fraser, I don't care if you thought it would be an interesting anecdote, you should not have told it to the whole of Chicago!"
"Well, strictly speaking Ray, I don't think it would be accurate to say I relayed the anecdote to the whole of Chicago. I can't say with any level of accuracy what Candy's viewing figures are, but I would guess that a certain percentage of Chicago's population are either working, shopping or watching another channel-" Ray and his Mountie boyfriend had obviously finished their slot on Candy's show. And now they stood on the pavement next to Chrissie and I. Ray sent me an acknowledging smile that I returned briefly before turning away and hooking my arm through Chrissie's and leading her out into the street. Chrissie began to untangle her arm from mine and suddenly marched ahead "I'll just see if-"
It all happened so fast. One minute I was wandering across the middle of the street, then there was the screech of tyres and the thump of human against fast-travelling metal and the next thing I knew I was staring at the snow filled clouds in the sky, a thudding pain in my head and ankle and something wet running down my neck.
"Oh my god – Nona!"
"Ma'am, are you conscious? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me – Ray, kindly call for an ambulance."
"Way ahead of you, Fraser. Jeez, that car came outta nowhere."
"Is she going to be alright? Nona!"
The voices were at the periphery of my consciousness as I lay there on the cold wet ground, winded and stunned. When I felt someone take my hand and tell me to squeeze, I did. It seemed like mere seconds before the ambulance sirens invaded screeched into being and I was being gently lifted onto a stretcher. I felt unconsciousness begin to creep up on me, my eyelids getting heavy, the pain in my body begging me to go somewhere else for a while.
The last thing I was aware of was a flash of red in my eye line, a gentle hand squeezing mine, and then darkness.
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