Another sleepless night had Rachel up and writing at 3 a.m. Thoughts of Phillip had kept her thoroughly distracted all day. She couldn’t concentrate on her deadline. She missed an interview scheduled for the first thing after her lunch break which she spent searching the Internet for Phillip and Gypsy on every search engine she could imagine. Of course she came up with nothing. Well, 12,3 17 hits of nothing, to be exact.
A cold and lonely apartment greeted her later that day as she unlocked the door and let herself into the darkness. Thirty four years old and living alone, married to a career as a journalist, how depressing. By day she busted politicians asses. By night Rachel wrote erotica. Or dreamed of unknown lovers-lover, she corrected herself silently.
He felt so damn real. It wasn’t fair. she agonized, practically tasting him, smelling him, feeling his fingers playing along her skin. She wandered through the living room, bee-lining for her computer. Maybe being dateless for so long was taking its toll.
Passing the kitchen table, Rachel grabbed an apple from the ceramic bowl before proceeding to the living room where she kicked off her shoes, threw her coat and purse on the couch and watched her computer whir and blink to life. Then she opened up the piece written last night about her dream. After re-reading it a few times she corrected a few typo’s, changed a few graphs and decided to submit it to the erotica site she contributed to now and then.
Even if it was driving her crazy, it would make one helluva story.
Within a week the story was approved. Emails and messages started filling her mailbox and desktop. Most were encouraging and sincere, filled with honest praise. All but one, from a woman named AnalJane. She was pretty nasty in her comments, and wrote Rachel in no uncertain terms that she had voted a 1 on that particular story because she was fairly certain Rachel had plagiarized another writer. A stunned Rachel checked her score and saw it was 3- pretty low considering her other scores with other stories. And very low considering all the 4’s and 5’s people who had written said they had given.
A quick note back assured AnalJane that the thoughts and words were Rachel’s and Rachel’s alone. After politely telling her her she was mistaken, Rachel let her temper get the best of her and signed it “fuck off.”
Plagiarize another writer? What nerve.
His office was quiet. Soft, yellow light spilled out from the brass and green shaded lamp on his desk. Other than that and the glow from his computer, his office was dark. He was waiting for copy editors on the third floor to finish reading his work. Then he could leave, get something from Wendy’s for dinner and head home.
While he waited he confirmed appointments for tomorrow, contemplated next month’s leads, and lastly, checked his business and then personal email.
It was this last item that caused him to straighten up in his swivel leather chair. Resting his elbows against the edge of his cherry finished desk, Phil read with interest an email from a long time internet friend, AnalJane.
As soon as he read the forwarded email a frown etched across his brow and he clicked onto the erotica site to search for the username of the person discussed in Jane’s email. He checked her profile after the second story, but it said little about the woman. He scrolled down to her story list and clicked on the most recently submitted entry, marked “New” and settled down for a good read.
Moments later he leaned back in his chair and sighed. Jane had good reason to believe this woman had plagiarized him. Her story was, although not word for word, very similar to a few of the stories he had written and submitted to the site. Plot-wise it was identical. Even details like his name and the type of computer he used was included in the story. Both of these items, he noted, could easily be learned by reading his profile.
He licked his lower lip thoughtfully as he typed an email to the woman. Maybe she was doing this deliberately as a means to attract attention from him. Then, before he hit send he changed his mind and deleted it. Better to see what she did next before addressing the situation.
It annoyed him terribly that she had chosen to steal this particular story of his. This one, the one based on true experience. The one story that haunted him. That kept him up sometimes. But to write it from the POV of the female who haunted him... Now that was creative. And sly. And devious.
She must be a real bitch, he thought as his phone buzzed.
It was the copy editing department. His copy had been proofed and completed. He was free to now go home.
