“Fine, but my life as a writer is over.”
“That’s because you do those girlie books. I keep telling you, detective novels are the way to go. You get a nice gory murder, a tough cop, a psycho villain. It’ll sell a million and you can retire.”
“Sure Dad, next book,” she promised, tucking her tongue in her cheek.
“So you’re having problems with your latest?” Sonia asked, setting the platter of cinnamon rolls on the table.
“It’s my name,” Ryan said morosely. “I have a boy’s name. No wonder I can’t feel enough like a woman to get a lover.” She crossed to the cupboard and pulled out coffee mugs. “If I could remember how it felt to have sex, I could write about it,” she said reflectively, carrying the mugs over to the table.
“You know why I had to name you Ryan,” Sonia returned. “Your grandfather was on his deathbed. It was little enough to ask and we were just so sure you were going to be a boy. Anyway, you could have gone by your middle name.”
“Gladys?”
“I couldn’t help it,” her mother said defensively. “I could hardly tell your father’s mother no after giving you a name from my family.”
“Don’t bring me into it, I was just an innocent bystander,” said her father, rattling the sports page.
“You could have gone by a nickname,” Sonia pointed out, carrying over the coffeepot.
Ryan sighed. “By the time I was aware enough to do that the damage had been already done.” She picked at the sweet roll in front of her.
Her mother poured coffee into the mugs and set the pot on a trivet. “Sweetheart, you’re a wonderful writer. Just watch a couple of Mel Gibson movies to get in the mood and imagine the rest.”
“I tried that. Didn’t work.” She sipped the coffee, deciding not to tell her mother what else she’d done to try to get into the mood. Which had put her right smack in the mood for about five minutes. And to sleep for the rest of the night.
“Why don’t you ask someone to set you up with a fellow? Mrs. Seberg across the street has a single grandson.”
“It’s a long way from a blind date to between the sheets, Ma. My deadline’s in two weeks. What I need is a mental vision of a monumental lover.”
“I guess stag movies wouldn’t do it,” Sonia said reflectively, slipping onto a chair.
“Mother!” Scandalized, Ryan stared at her mother, then burst into laughter. “I can’t believe you just encouraged your daughter to go rent a dirty movie.”
Her father peered around his paper with interest. “She never told me to go see one.”
“Oh hush, you. You never needed one.” Sonia stirred her coffee, unflappable. “I’m just trying to help salvage Ryan’s career. Given that I ruined it to begin with.”
“Well, it’s a romance novel, not soft-core porn. I don’t think those movies will do it.” Ryan gulped the last of her coffee and leaned across the table to snag another roll. “Anyway, I have to get going. I just stopped in to lay the blame for my impending ruin at your door.”
“Always happy to help, dear.” Her mother followed her to the kitchen door. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, you’re such a wonderful writer, it will all be fine.” She pulled her close in a hug. “You’ll find the right fellow, too.”
“When’s that going to happen?” Ryan pulled back and looked at her soberly.
“When you stop running around looking so busy and overtaxed that any man who looks at you figures you have to be running to meet a date. When you make yourself available, you’ll find him.”
“But what if I don’t? I’m tired of looking. It’s easier to just forget about it.” Suddenly all the joking was gone, and in its place, an ache of loneliness so familiar that Ryan had almost stopped noticing it. Almost.
Sonia looked at her levelly. “You don’t really believe that or you wouldn’t be writing romance novels as a second career.”
“If I don’t meet this deadline, my second career is going to go up in a puff of dust and I’ll be forced to teach memo writing for the rest of my life,” Ryan said dolefully.
“You’ll do it, sweetheart, you’ll see. Everything will be fine.”
HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY be fine, Ryan wondered the next day as she sat in her office. She’d avoided thinking about her deadline for months, but now it was inescapable. For more than a decade, she’d dreamed of being a professional writer. Now, on the verge of making it a reality, she was going to blow it.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the display before picking up the receiver with resignation. “Hello, Helene.”
“Have they done the deed?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”
“No worries, kid. I’ve got an answer for you.” Helene was absolutely chuckling with good humor. This boded nothing good, Ryan thought.
“No blind dates, Helene, I told you.”
“This isn’t a blind date, honeybunch, at least not exactly. It’s just what you need.”
A stir of misgiving whirled in her stomach. “What, exactly, do I need?” Ryan asked carefully.
“Some quality sheet time with a guy who knows what he’s doing and knows how to drive you crazy.”
Ryan’s brows drew together. “Helene, you are not going to set me up with a one-night stand.”
“You’re right, I’m going to do something better,” said Helene, sounding far too pleased with herself for Ryan’s comfort. “You need inspiration and I can deliver. A girlfriend of mine knows an agency that supplies guys she says will make you see God.” She paused a moment. “In return for a token of your appreciation.”
Ryan’s jaw dropped “You’re not suggesting…” Her voice trailed off. What was going on with people? First her mother suggesting she watch dirty movies, then Helene trying to line her up with a…a… “You’re talking about a gigolo!” Her voice rose to a squeak on the last word.
“Not a gigolo, an escort.” Helene corrected. “A class act. Come on, you loved it when the society lady went to one in those Tales of the City books.”
Ryan closed her eyes and massaged her temples where a headache was rapidly forming.
“Think about it,” Helene continued, her lighter snapping in the background. “A guy who’s gonna focus only on making you feel good. You sit there, quiver in ecstasy all night long.” Ryan could hear her drawing on her cigarette. “You make mental notes for when you go back to the computer, and you write it all down in the morning.”
“I am not going to pay someone for sex,” Ryan said in outrage.
“Well, right now, it doesn’t seem like you’re going to get it any other way, kid, and until you do, this book’s not going to get written,” Helene said tartly.
Was the whole world going nuts? Ryan groped for words, not even knowing where to start. “You do fine on your own, why isn’t it okay for me?”
Helene’s voice softened. “Ryan, I’m a dried-up old broad. I had my run, and it was a good one. H.L., God rest his soul, left me with a bundle of wonderful memories.” She sighed a little. “But you, you’re gorgeous, you’re young. Enjoy it while you’ve got it. Get out and live a little.”
“By sleeping with a gigolo?”
“An escort. Why not? Think of the great story it would make for your grandkids.” Helene stopped. “When they’re grown, anyway. Better yet, think about the manuscript deadline.