Writer's Massage

Author's note:

I wanted to explore how there are many things that can be traumatic, for many different reasons. It can be massive life-changing events, as in this story, but it can also be small things that happen in our lives that get internalized and become an unfortunate part of us. More so I wanted to delve into how we are generally absolutely shit at dealing with them. We do everything we can not to admit something was traumatic, and we come up with coping mechanisms that often are barely healthy, if not actually damaging to us.

Reading this, I know there are going to be thoughts of characters not acting rationally or logically. That is the point. Grief, anger, pain, all of our emotions are not something we necessarily deal with rationally. Characters in this story make bad decisions. Stupid, illogical decisions, and they justify them in a view of reality that is very much warped. The decisions make sense to them, but outside observers see the flaws in their logic.

This is a romance, there are happy endings, but it's going to take a while to get there. I hope you enjoy the journey. I have split this work into multiple parts as I thought posting it all in one go would just scare everyone away.

Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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"...been served" was echoing in my head. Damn him! He knew where I was and could have done this privately. Or any other time, but of course, he did it now, not that he actually knew what we were announcing. Cameras were flashing nonstop ever since the woman walked calmly past the reporters and practically threw the envelope at me after asking my name. The noise was overwhelming as everyone attempted to talk louder and over everyone else in the room. Rose! Ele!

I practically leaped up from my chair, my eyes frantically searching for Rose and Eleanor. They were in the back of the room and not easy to spot in the crowd. I wasn't a household name, but others here were, so the room was packed. News agencies, websites, bloggers, and YouTubers, too many people had come when we asked for a press conference. I saw from their faces that my girls were confused about what had just happened and why I was leaping about. It wouldn't take long for it to filter to the back of the room with all the shouting.

The shouting suddenly stopped as everyone clapped their hands over their ears, desperately trying to block out the sudden screeching of microphone feedback. I looked over at the podium to see Ian calmly standing there, doing something. It didn't seem like he was fixing it, so maybe he was causing it? I became certain when the feedback continued for several seconds, with him continuing to stand there calmly.

Finally, it stopped.

"Thank you all for coming." Ian's voice was calm in that "I'm telling it like it is, so sit down and shut up" way. "This meeting is now over. Please see my assistant, Sharon, for a media packet for each of you." He gestured to his PR assistant, who was already moving.

"This incident was not why we asked you to be here. Those of you who have any shred of human decency left will report only what is in the packet."

He spared a brief glance at me, still frozen, standing awkwardly. He gave me a rakish grin before he turned back to the microphones.

"Those of you who never had any decency can go fuck yourselves and let the whole world know that you only care about money. To you, I would like to inform you that there is nothing in this world more disgusting to me than those who treat others like they are less than humans deserving of compassion and respect. Sure you sell your shit and everyone has to eat, but at what cost? You could use your talents, your time, and your platforms to do good in the world. Build others up, talk about real problems, and facilitate conversations that matter. Instead, you fill the world with vile filth!"

I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Mia had stood up and was leaning in close to my ear. "Let's go while he distracts them", she whispered.

"Uh, what?" was my very confused reply.

"He's giving you an out and trying to eclipse the story with his rant. Now, let's go. You can thank him later", she whispered fiercely.

I stood still for another second. She was right. Every camera, microphone, recorder, and person was laser-focused on Ian. This was the story of a lifetime, or at least the week. World-famous, mild-mannered, well-respected actor gives verbal tirade, easily beats out mildly famous writer, gets served at a press conference. I looked at my daughters, ok, there were two people who weren't staring at Ian.

We quietly slipped towards the exit. It sounded like Ian was just getting started, and the insults were truly inventive. His Shakespeare background was showing in the best way. I grinned for a second, then felt the envelope in my hands. Damn him!

---------------

I pushed open the door and heard the light chiming of a bell. I glanced up; of course, a small coffee house named simply "Pearl's" in this rural town would have an actual bell that rang when you opened the door. No cheap electronic chime could quite replicate the sound of that silvery, metallic-sounding ring. I was already willing to give the owner points for authenticity or at least catering to a specific image.

"Hi, welcome to Pearl's", a voice chirped enthusiastically. I moved past the door and up closer to the counter. Standing there behind the counter in a deep maroon apron was a teenage girl. Tortoise Shell glasses framed bright blue eyes, short blonde hair, a round face, and a bright, genuine smile. "Do you know what you want?"

I took a moment to look at the shop. I had come here because my realtor had gotten held up outside of town and recommended I pick up coffee here while I waited. I loved the smell of fresh coffee; it just always paired perfectly with the smell of a new book, and I couldn't smell one without wishing for the other. What caught my eye here, however, was a mouth-watering array of baked goods showcased in the glass counter.

Never let anyone tell you that Starbucks sells actual good baked goods. Yes, they have them, and they were...adequate. In the same way that hurriedly jumping through the shower while rushing to get ready for work was adequate. It served its purpose of getting you clean, but it could not in any way compare to a long soak in a hot tub, preferably with a romantic partner.

My mouth was already watering just from the sight and smell in front of me, and I wasn't even hungry. Well, I ate breakfast several hours ago, so I shouldn't be hungry. But seeing innumerable pastries, croissants, sweet rolls, doughnuts, muffins, eclairs, scones, and quiche was making me feel every single one of those hours and regret my choice to "eat" a bland protein shake.

I shook myself, realizing I had been staring, ok, almost drooling...almost, without answering the girl's question. "I'm sorry. These all look delicious. I was only planning on coffee, but I may have to cheat and sample at least one of these." I gave the girl a smile. "Is it ok if I look for just a minute more?"

"Of course. If you have questions, let me know." She started to move off to the side so that I could drool in peace, when her eyes suddenly became riveted on my face.

"Oh my god", she whispered. "Oh my GOD! You're Lillith Summerfeld! I love you! I've read all your books. Oh my god! Macey has to see this." After the first sentence, she was not quite screaming but definitely talking much louder than needed. Bouncing up and down, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She pointed it at me and I suddenly liked this shop quite a bit less.

"Emma-Louise", the shout cracked with the force of a raging bull from a door behind the counter, I presumed the kitchen. "Put that away right now. You do not just whip out your phone and start snapping away without asking, young lady!"

A woman came through the door, wearing the same apron as the teenager and wiping her hands with a towel. From her glowering demeanor directed at the now visibly deflating teenager, I guessed this was the owner of the shouting voice. "Go help your aunt with whatever she needs in the back."

The girl, Emma-Louise, I guessed from the shout, put away her phone, and her shoulders slumped. She walked away from the counter looking like she had just run over her own puppy. I immediately felt bad for the girl. I didn't want my picture taken, but this was a bit much. She was just a kid, after all. I opened my mouth but stopped when Emma walked past the other woman. The woman grabbed her in a quick hug, and the displeasure on the woman's face morphed swiftly into a teasing grin as she whispered something into Emma's ear. Whatever it was, I was too far away to hear, but the girl straightened up and nodded vigorously. Then continued on her way with a normal gait.

"I'm so sorry for that, miss", the woman said, turning to me. "She's a good kid, but a kid still. Sixteen and ready to take on the world. Just gets a little excited sometimes, and it runs ahead of her brain."

I took a moment to examine the woman in front of me and I felt fairly confident after only a brief glance that they were mother and daughter. Or very close relatives. Same round face, a smile that hooked slightly higher on the left, and the same blindingly blue eyes. She looked to be around 40, if I was guessing, and slightly shorter than Emma. Meeting her gaze, I saw nothing but caring warmth, and I was even more sure this was Emma's mother. That shout at the start could have come from the harshest taskmaster, but it had been tempered quickly with whatever she had whispered to the girl.

"No apology needed. I'm honestly surprised anyone recognized me."

"We still read and have cable even out here, dear."

I choked on my spit at being so blatantly called out. Then I met the woman's eyes again. They were twinkling with mischief, and I was sure she was enjoying my discomfort. Her smile was also still kind, though it seemed proud as well. I could only guess it had something to do with her daughter knowing who I was when I was not expecting it.

"Touche", I said meekly. "But now I need to apologize. I didn't mean to insult you or this lovely town. I'm thinking of moving here. I just meant that, well, I'm not really a household name. It threw me when the first stranger I talked to started screaming out how much of a fan she is."

The woman chuckled. "Of course, dear. Though I have to warn you, if you move here, you will find quite a few admirers. Emma and her friends are a bit of a fan club, and even some of us adults read from time to time."

Touche was a bit of my go-to when I wasn't sure what to say back to someone. Conversations were much easier when written, especially when I was writing both sides. I wasn't nearly as quick as this woman and thought that full surrender might be the best option if I wanted to save any shred of dignity.

"Everything here looks and smells amazing. I'm having too hard a time choosing. Could I be cliche and ask what your favorite is?"

The woman was grinning even more widely, if possible. I got the feeling she had vast experience with others surrendering when speaking with her. "They are all my favorites since I make most of them. But now that we have both apologized to each other, I think a trade would be nice. Anything you can see is yours, and in return, you sign something for Emma."

I blushed. Strangers asking for my autograph normally only happened at book signings. Random coffee shop strangers were a first for me. I glanced down at the pastries again. After the way Emma had deflated after not getting her picture, I was perfectly happy to sign something for her. Getting any of these delicious-looking treats in exchange seemed like robbery.

"Deal, I'm Madeleine. Nice to meet you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madeleine. I'm Cecilia, and you met my daughter Emma-Louise."

Mia needed better taste. Correction, I needed to check to make sure she hadn't somehow accidentally had a lobotomy. Because I was seriously questioning how she could have ever recommended this realtor.

The realtor was nearly an hour later than our agreed-upon meeting. Thankfully, Rose and Ele were with their grandparents all day, so I had nothing else scheduled, but the realtor's lateness was the least of the issues. We stood outside the house for another 30 minutes while she made call after call because some app wasn't working to give her the code for the lockbox, which had the house key. I was left to stand there awkwardly and pretend to be busy on my phone.

In her multiple phone calls, it quickly became obvious which ones were speaking with men versus women. Despite being on the phone and not in person, her entire demeanor and stance shifted. Pushing her hips to the side and playing with her extremely bleached hair. Her voice was much higher, and she seemed to be trying to make everything an innuendo. To me, she just sounded like someone who peaked in high school and was desperately trying to relive when she wrapped boys around her fingers.

Once we finally entered the house, she spent most of her time discussing which of the neighbors were men, who was cute, who was married, who was single, and where popular spots in town were to meet any of the above. I found myself having to ask even basic questions like how much land the property sat on, square feet, building materials, and what schools were nearby. Each time I asked something not related to the male species, it seemed to surprise her. Though she at least was able to answer most of the questions somewhat satisfactorily, she got back on her favorite topic, places to meet men, quickly each time.

The town bordered a lake where many residents would spend the weekend, and there was a second, smaller lake in the mountain pass, not 20 minutes away if you wanted fewer people. Then, there were a number of running and hiking trails which supposedly were frequented by young studs who abstained from shirts. There was only one gym in town worth going to, according to her, but only because of the number and handsomeness of its personal trainers.

By the time we were done touring the 6,000 sq ft ranch house that sat on two acres and had a private road leading to a similarly private portion of the beach, I was as ready to buy it as I was to be done with this woman. It was obvious that this was an amazing find that only existed in stories and not in real life. I made an offer above the asking price before we left and gave my realtor strict instructions that I wanted the chance to negotiate if the seller got a better offer.

Driving back to the town center, I called Mia to give her a piece of my mind. I ranted for about 10 minutes while Mia quietly giggled on the other end of the call.

"She's the worst, isn't she?" Mia's voice was laughing after I finished shouting.

"If you knew she was the worst, why would you recommend her?" I shouted back.

"Because she's a fucking fairy god-mother." I could already see Mia raising her hand to forestall my retort. "Yeah she'll sleep with anything that has a dick and never met anything silicon that she wouldn't try if someone told her it would make her sexier. She was showing you a house that was impossibly too good to be true, right?"

"Yes. Not that she would tell me anything about it. I had to drag that out of her while she talked endlessly about all the shirtless men in the neighborhood."

Mia chuckled again. "I don't know how she does it, but she always finds these absolutely magical properties, and her clients get them. So as long as you put an offer in that is reasonable, you just sit tight and let her work. Bottle of chardonnay says you get the house."

"Fine", I huffed. "Next time you recommend anything to me, I'm going to make you sign an affidavit that I won't hate the person."

"Love you too, Mad", Mia said as she hung up.

I hung up the Bluetooth in my car and looked at the time. I had planned to look at several houses today, not just the first one. So I had extra time that I wasn't sure what to do with. I could go pick up Rose and Ele, but I felt like they needed time with their grandparents. For the past few months, everything at home felt like it was tainted by my divorce from their dad. Better to let them have some time away from that and to just be kids.

I decided to stop at Pearl's again. If I were moving here, and there was a fan club of teenage girls, it might be useful to get more information about it. I wouldn't want my own girls to be blindsided or put in an awkward situation. Ele especially took enough on herself protecting Rose, she didn't need any reason to take on more unnecessary responsibility.

Inside the shop were several people spread among the ten or so tables and booths. Compared to this morning, the smell of fresh-baked deliciousness was muted, and the different coffee roasts featured much more prominently. Cecilia was sitting at a table speaking with a man who, judging from his work boots, spent his time doing manual labor. From their clasped hands and how close their heads were together, I would also bet they were man and wife.

At the chiming of the bell, she stood up, kissed his forehead, and moved off towards the counter. From the way his eyes followed her, and didn't appear to be just to appreciate her backside, it was clear he just wanted to be with her. My throat choked for just a minute. I thought that's what I signed up for with Richard. Now I was fighting tooth and nail just to be able to live my life with my daughters while he made outrageous demands in his effort to punish me.

"Madeleine, welcome back. What can I get you?"

I was slightly surprised at the warmth in her voice when she greeted me. We had only met this morning, and it had felt a bit tumultuous. Right now, she looked like she was greeting an old friend.

"Uhh, just a cortado, please. I was actually hoping I could speak with you about what you said this morning. How there is a bit of a fan club in town for my books?"

"Of course. But honestly, honey, it's nothing to be ashamed of or worry about. I've read your books as well. You write well. Is it surprising that a series featuring three strong women characters is loved by young women looking for role models?"

I took a moment to think about how to phrase this. I certainly didn't want to be rude or dismissive of her daughter, nor accuse them of anything before I knew anything about them. At the same time, I wasn't concerned about myself. This was for my daughters.

"I have two daughters, Cecilia. I would guess they are maybe a year or two younger than Emma."

"And you want to know if the fan club will swarm them or make them miserable if you end up living here." She interrupted me gently. Cecilia handed my drink across the counter and then gestured to a table, skipping the cash register. It was the same table she had been sitting at when I came in, but at some point, the man had left.

"Madeleine", she said in a very motherly voice. Did I just look helpless? This woman had maybe five years on me from what I could tell. "I don't want to scare you. They are teenage girls, and you know they act before they think. But all of them are good people, and I know their parents personally. Will it be awkward when they find out who your daughters are? Maybe. But that's part of the choice you made when you became a parent. It may not be as large as writing books, but Emma still has to live with people knowing the good and the bad that I do. Some of their judgment of me falls on her. Everything we do is for our children, but we can't shelter them from everything. "

I was surprised by the last bit. I was expecting a gentle reprimand about how I gave up privacy when I became a published author. How putting my picture in book jackets, attending conventions, book signings, or doing the occasional small news show meant I was forcing my girls at least partially into the public eye as well. When she talked about herself as a parent and compared herself to me, I immediately wanted to reject her words. What did a small-town coffee shop worker, maybe owner, know about strangers running screaming at your family? The thought lasted only a second before I realized she didn't know anything about that. But she did know exactly what she said; everything we do is reflected onto those closest to us. Her kids had to live with that, just as mine did.