Chapter 14

Truths and Lies

T he master class on Writing in Color was my favorite, equipping me to broaden the scope of my primary characters. Then the Piracy Panel unearthed some unsettling truths, more than a little scary to contemplate. I thanked the presenters for giving us handouts to take home, so I could scour all the fanfic and pirated book sites to learn if they had posted any of mine.

Did the thoughtless readers who consumed these "free" books not care that they stole food from our tables? Were they under some delusion that all authors live in a mansion like Nora Roberts or Stephen King? Did they think we lie around all day in satin gowns while a staff of servants waits on us hand and foot?

Tammy had done some digging. She discovered that the average U.S. author working with a midsized to large publishing house earned a net income of around $50,000 a year from book sales. The royalties for the average self-published or small-house author were a dismal $12,749 in 2023. Either way, without a New York Times #1 Best Seller distinction, novelists were living hand to mouth or holding down other full-time jobs. Oh, but by all means, call us greedy because we sell an ebook for the price of a coffee and expect to be paid for the work that went into creating it.

Feeling the need to escape from the throng of writers now riled up about how they were being robbed blind, I ventured onto a large terrace off Chinoiserie B to get some air. The humidity of the late afternoon was like standing in a sauna, but the sprawl of the Crescent City beneath the hotel's tower was captivating. I should set a romance novel here, I mused. The atmosphere is ripe for it, and it would be decidedly steamy.

Soon I sensed Winter's presence and smiled at being able to recognize her without looking. "What do you want to do before dinner? Change clothes or anything?"

"Is there something wrong with my clothes?" she asked.

Pivoting, I raked my eyes over her petite form in appraisal. Over the invitingly wide-legged shorts, she wore a white button-up shirt with a navy sailor collar and tie that had to be a size too big for her. It had short sleeves and the rounded tail hung untucked. I was vaguely familiar that some girl anime characters wore these—well, and Donald Duck. But, to be honest, the only thing I could find wrong with Winter's clothes was that they were on when I'd prefer they be off.

"I just didn't know if you'd be cold in the lounge with bare legs," I said instead. "They may have the AC cranked up."

"You're so sweet, always thinking about me." She bit her bottom lip in the most adorable way.

Tammy swooshed through the open doors to interrupt the moment. "I picked the restaurant last night," she announced. "One of you should choose for tonight."

"Is there time to have dinner in the French Quarter and be back for karaoke?" I asked. I had no intention of singing, but it could be fun. It would also mean more time with Winter and still have chaperones about to keep me from doing something foolish.

"Sure," Tammy confirmed. "I mean, the hotel restaurant is probably good too, but we'll be eating their spread tomorrow night."

"Remember, we have budgets," Elaine pointed out as she joined us on the terrace.

I could feel the sweat rolling between my breasts and lifted a hand to shade my eyes from the intense sun. "It's five o'clock, and, at this rate, I'll have to change clothes before karaoke because my shirt will be drenched. I know a place with the most excellent po'boys and Cajun food in a homey, quaint atmosphere, no frills, come-as-you-are, and you can get a whole delicious meal for under twenty bucks. It's called Mother's, and it's just around the corner, not a block away."

"Perfect!" Beth declared. "I love home-cooked style meals."

"I love no-frills, come-as-you-are," Tammy added.

"Let's go," Elaine suggested. "Aspen, lead the way."

M other's Restaurant was just how I remembered it—hundred-year-old brick walls, hot food display counters, friendly smiles, and mouth-watering aromas that made you want to melt into a puddle of satisfaction. It was only five-fifteen and already the main dining hall brimmed with boisterous customers eating and laughing around fifty's style dinette tables. Well, they may not even be retro. Those could actually be seventy-year-old tables and chairs.

When Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005, the French Quarter, with its higher elevation, was mercifully spared from the brunt of the disaster. There was flooding here as well but only a few feet's worth instead of up to rooftops. Owners had to repair or replace flooring and drywall, but the historic homes, hotels, restaurants, and businesses miraculously weathered the storm.

"Five today?" A young man in black pants and a white button-up shirt met us at the door. Every table appeared to be full, and I was concerned about us clogging up the doorway, especially with Beth's wheelchair.

"Seven!" corrected a sultry voice from behind us.

Glancing over my shoulder, I spied R.B. and the Canadian escort she had recently gained. She'd twisted her long, auburn hair into a cool knot and clipped it on top of her head in a casual splash that could still take my breath away. From the sparkle in Jeri's attentive eyes, she concurred.

"Seven," Tammy confirmed with a smile.

"Come with me." The youthful waiter led us through the narrow dining hall where knives and forks clinked on ceramic plates and conversation rolled over into laughter. Then he ushered us through French doors, down a six-inch ramp into a second dining hall. This one was quieter and cozier, dominated by high, ancient, brick walls with only a couple of street-facing windows at one end. The ambiance was more intimate and, with the ceiling fan and lack of warm bodies, cooler than the primary dining area.

"This is our reception hall," he explained, "but no one has reserved it for this evening. So, we will open it for overflow seating. Please, come to this big, round table over here."

He directed us to a setting for eight and pulled away a chair, making a space for Beth. "I am Ramone and will be your waiter for the evening. If there is anything you wish, please let me know."

As we took our seats, Ramone passed out accordion-folded, laminated menus. "You see, the gluten-free, vegetarian, and pork selections are marked so you may adhere to your dietary preferences. I'll be back in a moment with ice water and to take your orders. Please make yourselves comfortable and enjoy your stay with us."

"What a nice young man!" Elaine exclaimed. She put on her glasses to inspect the menu.

"Glad to have you join us," Beth said to R.B. with a welcoming smile. "Please introduce your friend."

While the sexy romance author introduced the perfectly chiseled, firefighting horror author, I turned my attention to Winter, perusing her menu with her. "What looks good to you?"

She shot me a desirous look that implied, You do , before flicking an insecure glance across the table at R.B. and Jeri. I leaned in closer and pointed, drawing her attention back to the food choices.

"I've had the debris, and it was fabulous. It's like a roast beef French dip with au jus."

Sliding my finger down the menu, incidentally brushing Winter's hand, I pointed to another item. OK, so that wasn't an accident; I intended to experience the spark of sensation she gave me. She was like an adorable koala that you just can't help but love and want to cuddle. And I didn't want her comparing herself to granite-bodied Jeri Callisto.

"The shrimp creole is excellent, or we could split this bigger combination dinner with a taste of almost everything," I added, allowing my hand to linger where it touched hers.

"That sounds …" Winter swallowed and, without looking up, completed, "lovely."

"Excellent!" I praised in a hush, withdrawing my hand. "That way, we'll have room for dessert." I smiled and winked at her, making her laugh.

The water came—for which I was eternally grateful—and we all placed our orders. I considered R.B., and the more I got to know her the better I liked her. She wasn't just the gorgeous, successful epitome of a sapphic romance author—she was a nice person who didn't consider the rest of us beneath her. I suppose most of the other authors were as well. I just had built her up in my head to be so superior, but she put her shoes on one at a time like everyone else. And now I had the privilege of viewing her as classy in more ways than one. She conversed and laughed with Elaine and Beth as easily as she had with Selina and Catherine. And if she had just picked up Jeri for a weekend conference romance, hadn't I considered doing the same with Winter? At least Jeri was a full-fledged adult who oozed with the confidence of being experienced. Neither of those two was using each other, and who knew? Maybe they were just friends.

"I have an idea for getting to know each other better," Jeri proposed. "How about a game of two truths and a lie?"

The thought of that struck me with instant terror. She wanted me to say something truthful about myself? How was this going to work?

Winter must have sensed my resistance because she leaned in and murmured, "I will if you will. And you can always make stuff up. Who'd know?"

I wanted to reach under the table and squeeze my hand around her thigh. I wanted to whisk her off to the restroom for a quickie. No. A quickie wouldn't do. I wanted to kiss her with six months'—alright, fifteen months'—worth of pent-up passions. Had it been that long? I guess I really was that repressed after the debacle with the last woman I had dated. God, if I could just be Aspen Wolfe all the time instead of stupid Mary Jones, my life could be so much different. Winter wasn't here fawning over me but her image of me. It was depressing. Only Aspen doesn't get depressed. She takes charge.

"Sure," I rang out merrily. "Sounds like fun."

When it got to my turn, I could only think of the most obvious things to say. "I used to be an English teacher; the highlight of my high school was a skiing trip to Colorado; last year I carried the opening banner at Gulfport's Pride Parade." Everyone guessed right. I sucked at this.

"Your turn," R.B. prompted Winter. She looked more nervous than I had been.

"OK." She flicked her head to settle her brunette halo into a bowl around her neck exactly as it had lain before making the motion. Then she pushed up her glasses, folded her hands on the table in front of her, and stared straight ahead. "I was valedictorian of my senior class."

That has to be true .

"Last year I flew on a Space X mission."

Get out! Really?

Winter concluded her three with, "I'm still a virgin."

Every mouth at the table dropped. I was sure my heart stopped beating. As silence ruled, I remembered to breathe. Which one's the lie ?

"No Space X mission," I ventured. My whole body felt numb at her list of truths and lies. Maybe she didn't understand the game.

Winter grinned and shook her head. "It was a commercial launch. I was along to test a new Canadarm or Remote Manipulator System robotic arm our company had developed. I'm not an astronaut or anything, but it was pretty cool."

"You've been in space?" Tammy wore the most incredulous expression I'd ever seen on her.

"Then you must have been salutatorian of your class," Elaine guessed next.

Winter turned beet red and shook her head. My stomach lurched into my throat. No more picturing sex with Winter! How could I possibly live up to a twenty-six-year-old-virgin's expectations?

"Speaking of most embarrassing moments," Elaine aptly segued with an awkwardly forced grin. "Once in high school, I was on stage performing my role in our production of Oklahoma and completely forgot every single line. There was the spotlight blazing down on me, my parents, and hundreds of people in the audience. It was time for Aunt Eller's speech and, after hemming, hawing, and thinking I'd pass out, I just winged it."

Elaine, you're a lifesaver, I thought in appreciation of how she veered attention away from my sweet Winter—I mean Winter, who isn't mine and won't be tonight for sure. In that instant, I wished we'd have more time—time to not have to rush but to give her the experience she deserved.

"If we're confessing most embarrassing moments." Tammy exhaled, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. "Once I was fly-fishing and caught myself in the ass with a treble hook—and not just my pants, my actual ass. Beth had to take me to the E.R. so the doctors could remove it without causing more tearing. Now that 's embarrassing!"

"Harmless," R.B. voiced with a bittersweet smile. "Might have hurt at the time, but I've got everyone at the table beat. I wasn't just embarrassed but utterly humiliated. I was such a fool." Her words fell with a despairing finality that tugged at my heart.

"What happened?" I asked, searching her face with compassion. I couldn't imagine R.B. Taylor ever doing anything humiliating, and the impeccable writer was no fool.

"About a year ago, I started living with a woman I'd dated for six months," she recounted. "She seemed normal, charming even, and led me to believe she was in love with me. Anyway, she seemed particularly attracted to my writing. Everything about being a sapphic author excited her, even though she didn't write. I encouraged her to give it a shot if she wanted to. There was no harm in trying, and who knew? A little while later, I caught her sending an unpublished manuscript of mine off to Past and Prologue Press under a fake name, claiming it was her work. I mean, it's bad enough when anonymous pirates steal your creations and slap their name on it, but a woman you'd been sleeping with? Who you thought cared about you?"

"R.B., that's awful!" Elaine exclaimed in a sharp tone. An angry glower replaced her customary smile as she shifted in her seat. "What did you do about it?"

"Well, I kicked her out, for starters." R.B.'s expression was about as bleak as I'd ever seen. Jeri rubbed a soothing hand across her back and shoulders and brushed a supportive kiss on her cheek. "I felt so stupid to have been duped like that. And I told this story just to prove that it can happen to anyone, not for sympathy. None of us is above falling victim to an unscrupulous adversary—especially when they pretend to be otherwise."

That was so true. For an instant, doubt reared its ugly head, and I wondered if one of the women at this table was only pretending to be my friend but was, in fact, my antagonist. I banished the absurd notion.

"I appreciate that," Winter responded. "We mere peons of prose tend to think the more successful, glamorous writers have it made, when, really, you just have bigger targets on your backs, like with Aspen's stalker."

"You mean that vile business with SapphicLover69?" R.B. asked. She shook her head. "I never believed any of the garbage she put out about you."

"Thanks," I said, feeling much better about my situation after hearing some of what she'd been through. At least I hadn't been seduced by a book pirate.

"Yeah, but that wasn't the end of it," Beth growled. "Her stalker is here at the conference. She threatened Aspen and trashed her room."

"What? Are you serious?" interjected Jeri, whose protective hackles jutted up like swords around the Iron Throne.

"So that's what all the fuss was about last night," R.B. supposed in realization. "I heard someone's hotel room had been broken into, but the rest …"

"It's just one of those things," I stated in resignation. "I count myself blessed to have so many good friends in my corner."

The accommodating waiter appeared at our table. "Would anyone like dessert?"

Several other parties had joined us in the reception hall, but the atmosphere still felt private. The meal had been a feast for the senses, the exchanges eye-opening, and the company beyond compare.

Tammy checked her watch and nodded. "We have time. I'll have a slice of pecan pie."