Beverley 05: Author Mania

All characters in this story are over eighteen years old.

This is the fifth Beverley story, but each can be read on its own.

There is no sex in this one.

* * *

"Oh yes, Ms. Beverley. Mr. Sanders is waiting for you." The gray-haired receptionist straightened his jacket before leading Beverley to a door at the end of the corridor. Holding it open, he announced, "Ms. Beverley Carney."

The office was spacious and furnished with antique furniture. Dark mahogany and glass bookcases lined one long wall. The man advancing around the desk towards Beverley offered her a hand and a smile.

"I'm Tristan Sanders," he said. "We met at Halston's Garden Cafe last month."

"That's right, Mr. Sanders. I remember." Beverley didn't really want to talk much about that meeting since her friends had convinced her to go to dinner nude. "How is Mrs. Chelsie?"

"She is well, sends her regards to you." He held a chair for her and sat down next to her. "But please, just call me Tristan."

Beverley nodded and smiled. She knew Tristan headed a publishing company that published both fiction and non-fiction. CB Solutions, the company she owned with Chris Lowe, provided translation services, and she assumed the meeting was for translating a book.

"First things first," Landers said, lifting the phone. "Do you take sugar in your coffee?"

He got down to business immediately. "We have a popular series of books by Kayla Peradise. Her genre is erotic romance, and the books sell well. Her next book is ready for launch, and we want to get a movie or television deal."

Beverley listened, wondering what CB Solutions could do about this. They had no experience or contacts with Hollywood or the networks. She waited for him to continue.

"We want to make a splash with this one. Generate publicity, catch the eye, pique the interest of the studios. That's where we need you."

"Uh, you want us to design a publicity campaign?"

Sanders waved his hand. "It is done. Pre-release reviews, excerpts and sample chapters in magazines and websites, all the usual. But this time, we've arranged personal appearances by the author."

The receptionist came in with two cups on a silver tray. Sanders waited until he had placed the cups on the desk and closed the door behind him.

"We want you to appear as Kayla Peradise. Book signing, interviews, launch parties, press meets, and the other events of a book launch. We want to generate a buzz loud enough to reach the right ears."

"What happens when the real author turns up and denounces us?" Beverley didn't want to be charged with forgery or impersonation.

Tristan shook his head. "There is no real Kayla. We created the name and the books are written by a team of ghostwriters. The name, or brand, belongs to us, so you need have no legal fears."

"You mean... Kayla Peradise doesn't exist?" Beverley took a moment to digest it. She admired the beautiful coffee cup before taking a sip from it and lowering it. "The author is sort of... a brand you own?"

"It's not new," said Sanders. "The Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books were written by the non-existent Carolyn Keene and Franklin Dixon decades ago. Different ghostwriters wrote those books.

"More recently, authors like Clive Cussler and Tom Clancy have passed away, but books with their names continue to be published. Authors often become brands. Don't feel guilty about what you're doing."

Beverley nodded. Looking at Sanders, she asked, "Why me?"

"You're lovely to look at, and that's not my opinion; Chelsie and Shelby both said so. You're smart, obviously educated, think fast, and talk well. And you were so confident when nude in a public setting."

"You mean these book launch events might require nudity?" Beverley felt her heart sinking. She had been so hopeful of bringing a lucrative assignment to CB Solutions. Now it looked as if there wouldn't be one.

"Kayla will be nude for all the promotional events." Sanders put both hands palm down on the table. "I am being upfront with you, Beverley. I don't want to slip anything in the fine print of a contract. My company doesn't work like that."

"I may not be the right person for you, Tristan," said Beverley, pushing her cup to one side. "I get up to some fun and games with friends, but I am not a professional stripper."

"Nor do we want one!" Sanders exclaimed. "It struck all four of us that day. You didn't want to exhibit yourself but were doing it because you had agreed to something. And you were handling it with grace and aplomb."

"Those are rare qualities, Beverley," he said, leaning forward. "We cannot have a vulgar, uncouth person as Kayla. We need you, a unique combination of physical beauty, intelligence, and charm."

"Uh, thank you, Tristan," said Beverley. "It's exceedingly kind of you. But I have a dread of being photographed nude, and this job will have photographs and video."

Sanders spoke quickly, before Beverley could utter an unequivocal no. "Please consider for a few days, Beverley. I know we cannot tempt you with money, but I should mention the fee for one week of promotion will be one hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

Beverley leaned back in her chair. CB Solutions was generating work, but this fee was twice what they had earned in the last year. And this offer had come to her in her individual capacity. She could catch up on her mortgage, start a college fund for Brandon, get the...

She shook her head. Was she really considering this absurd job? "I'm sorry, Tristan. I'd like to work with your company, but appearing nude on television shows..."

"Well, you do realize the mainstream networks won't carry it," Sanders said calmly. "It will only be available on some subscription platforms. And really, Beverley, there is so much content added to the internet every day that today's sensation is buried and lost in a year."

He saw Beverley weakening and pressed forward. "We could raise your fee to two hundred thousand dollars."

"That's a lot of money," Beverley said, cautiously. "Uh, apart from the events, would there be any other demands?"

"Most certainly not." Sanders was emphatic. "I don't want any sexual favors, and Chelsie will be around for some events. I have already said we don't want a stripper. We do not want a prostitute, either."

The word shocked Beverley, though that was the vague thought disturbing her. Sanders' clear denial did much to reassure her.

"I don't deny selecting you because you're physically marvelous, Beverley." Sanders broke in on her thoughts. "But we need much more. At the press conference, the talk show, other events, there will be challenging questions and situations. We need someone with intelligence and wit to represent us."

Beverley was conflicted. The job was sounding less terrible as they talked, and the money was tempting. "How many events will there be? Will I have to travel a lot?"

"We would want you to be in Los Angeles for seven days. Expenses paid, of course. Three to five events in and around the city." He looked at her carefully. "You will have a discreet but very effective security team. At the first sign of any untoward activity, they will step in and put a stop to it."

Beverley nodded, thinking hard. "You're very well-prepared with this plan."

Sanders looked surprised. "Of course. Publishing a book takes several months of writing, editing, proof-reading, and production. There's plenty of time to plan the launch."

"Yes, well, I've only just heard about it. Could I have a few days to think about it?"

Sanders was silent for a minute. Beverley waited patiently for him to speak. The lesson on negotiation she had taught during the soft skills course was coming in useful, she thought.

"I will be honest with you, Beverley." Sanders spoke at last. "As I said, our plans have been underway for months. We haven't been able to find anyone suitable to be our Kayla. We're under time pressure now.

"If you'll give me your decision by this time tomorrow, we can offer you a fee of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"That is very generous of you," said Beverley, rising and shaking hands with Sanders. "I'm driving home in the afternoon, so I'll have time to think. I will call you tomorrow morning."

"That will be satisfactory," he replied. "May I say, I look forward to working with you."

* * *

"Hard to say, Beverley." Scales rubbed his chin, a habit of his when he was uncertain. "Movie budgets are in tens of millions, so the book rights could be in millions. Or not. I really have no information. Big name authors get high-dollar deals, of course."

Beverley nodded glumly. She had stopped at Scales' house after driving back from Raleigh. Scales had tried to find information from the internet, but not enough was available.

Scales and she had known each other for about two months now. Like her, he was divorced, though with no children. Her son, Brandon, four years old, was forming an affectionate relationship with Scales, which made her very happy.

"But that blonde hair clause is actually to your advantage," Scales said, running his fingers through her long dark brown hair. "After all the events, stay there an extra day, get your hair shortened and dyed back to your original color."

"You really think it'll help?" Beverley asked, smiling.

"I'm not saying it'll keep your identity a secret," said Scales. "But people on the street here won't easily recognize you as the nude erotic writer in Raleigh."

"Thanks for the idea, Phil," she said. She threw off the covers and stretched her nude body on the queen-size bed. "Do me again. I'll figure the rest out by myself."

Beverley did call Sanders in the morning, and things went into fast forward. Two days later, she was in Sanders' office again, reading through the contract.

"Take your time reading it, Ms. Beverley," said McClerie, the company lawyer. "Essentially, you will receive the specified amount in return for attending three events, as per the conditions spelled out. For any additional events you agree to, there will be an additional payment. And if our company secures a deal with a movie or production company, there will be a bonus for you."

Beverley understood. Sanders didn't want her to just go through the motions. The bonus was an incentive for enthusiastic participation.

A few minutes later, she signed the document and walked out holding her copy and four paperback books. These were the books published under the Kayla Peradise name, and she would have to read them thoroughly.

* * *

"I'm Tilda Hall," said the voluptuous Black woman, holding out her hand. Beverley shook it, trying her best not to be intimidated by the enormous mass of black curly hair and the abundant curves on this woman. "I'm your makeup artist, so we'll spend several hours working together this week."

"I'm Kayla Peradise," Beverley said. She looked at Tilda and guessed she was about thirty. "Uh, several hours of makeup?"

"Don't feel bad, honey," Tilda reassured her. "There's nothing wrong with the way you look. You have beautiful skin and a gorgeous bone structure. Doing your face makeup would be quick, but I have to do whole body makeup and that takes time."

"Got it." This was the first of the events before the formal book launch. She was to show up at a Culver City bookstore and sign copies of the new Kayla Peradise book. The store opened at 10, but Beverley had been asked to report there at seven for makeup and briefing.

"I have this tall stool for ya," said Tilda, dragging it with one hand. "I can do most of your body while you sit."

Beverley sat down on the stool, and Tilda gave her a strange look. "Sweetie, I can't do your body makeup through your clothes. Get naked."

Beverley was shocked by the abrupt order but moved to comply. Getting off the stool, she started undressing, placing her clothes on a small table to the side. With her thumbs hooked into her panties, she hesitated.

"Once I'm naked, I remain so until the event is over?"

"That's right. You hafta get used to it." Tilda's expression softened and she came close and gave Beverley a hug. "New to showbiz?"

"I am not even in showbiz," said Beverley. "Just a writer trying to generate some buzz for my new book."

"Well, look, Beverley," said Tilda. "You can keep your panties on for an hour while I do the rest of your body. I'll do that area last, just before your face. But you can't pull your panties down your legs after I've done them. I'll have to cut them off."

"I see," said Beverley. "So I'll have to get to the hotel without underwear." Not a problem, she thought. The skirt and blouse she'd come in were thick and loose.

"You'll get used to it, sweets," said Tilda, laying out foundations, bronzer, highlighters, and several other products Beverley was not familiar with. "And you'll realize that lots of people are going to see you fully naked so there's no point destroying a perfectly good pair of panties."

Beverley nodded and added her last garment to the stack on the table. Fully nude, she sat down on the stool and watched with interest as Tilda prepared her materials. They were in a small space created by placing two screens at the back of the bookstore.

"Do actors also get completely nude for movie shoots?" she asked. "I mean, women actors?"

"We use a shibue, which is like a thong, but without straps. They look nude on screen but their naughty bits are covered." Tilda Brady looked at Beverley and shrugged. "I have one in your skin hue, but your contract calls for complete nudity."

"I wish we had a room with a proper door," fretted Beverley. "These screens make me nervous." Beverley listened for sounds in the store while Tilda concentrated on her work. She was now working on Beverley's shoulders using a sponge. She broke off midway to peer around the screen.

"This way," she called out. "Your hairdresser is here," she informed Beverley before getting back to work. Beverley had got her hair colored platinum blonde the previous evening, and had been told a coiffure expert would be with her in the morning. She hadn't realized he would be working on her while she was nude.

"Hi, Tilda." A skinny man in jeans came into the screened space. "You must be Beverley. I'm Harvey, your hairdresser for the week. Good to work with you again, Tilda."

He walked around Beverley's stool, looking at her face and head from various angles. Satisfied, he unpacked his bag, setting out various instruments, tubes, and bottles. "Now, Beverley," he said, "I want to finish your hair quickly so Tilda gets enough time to do your face. Hold still, and don't move, no matter how much she tickles you."

Beverley was mystified. "Why will she tickle me?"

"Eh?" said Harvey. He plugged in a curler and watched the LEDs come on. "She's done your back and arms, hasn't she? She'll be working on your belly and tits now."

And he was right, Beverley found out within minutes. Tilda turned her attention and brush to Beverley's stomach area, and she found herself giggling and shuddering. Both her beautifiers admonished her several times.

"This way, Mr. Sanders," they heard, and one of the screens was pulled to the side. Tristan walked in followed by a younger man, both in dark business suits. Beverley remembered her instructions to remain immobile, and greeted Tristan without nodding.

"Good to see you, Beverley," said Tristan heartily. "You're a beautiful woman, and these experts will transform you into a work of art." Tilda and Harvey smiled politely. "Now, Beverley, this is Nolan Bechett, who will be your aide for this week. Anything you need, just ask. He'll be around you at all times during the events and look after you."

He was doing a good job of looking at her, Beverley thought. His eyes were running all over her body, lingering on her nipples and navel before moving to her crotch. Beverley quelled her urge to close her thighs because Tilda was working on them.

"I'll be with you from the beginning of the event each time, Beverley, until you're home," said Bechett. "I'll coordinate your transport, security, and anything else you might need."

"Speaking of security, you'd better introduce her to Torres," said Tristan. "She should know him by sight, just in case." He settled on a chair brought by Bechett and turned to Beverley. "Everything is carefully planned, and we expect each event to proceed without difficulty. But we've prepared for every snag."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Sanders," said Bechett. "Torres and his people will be monitoring constantly, and I will be around."

Sanders spoke, from his chair. "We have about an hour before the store opens and the clients start coming in to buy the books and get them signed by you. You've been practicing the signature?"

The company's graphic artist had created a beautiful signature for Kayla Peradise, and Beverley had been practicing it dozens of times every day for the past week. She nodded, bringing a howl of protest from Harvey. Tilda was sitting cross-legged on the floor to work on Beverley's knees and legs. Sanders continued giving Beverley instructions about the event.

Bechett had left a minute ago and now he reappeared with a man of medium height and massive arms and shoulders. "This is Torres, Beverley. He is in charge of your security detail."

Torres nodded politely to her. His words were somewhat muffled by his massive moustache and she had to struggle to hear. "I or one of my team members will be watching you at all times. Now if you're feeling crowded, just hold up two fingers like this and we will come and control the crowd. If you..."

Beverley listened intently as he described the various signals and actions. She knew these would be helpful if she ever got in trouble during her nude stay. After answering her questions, Torres took up a broad-based stance besides Sanders.

"Have you finished, Harvey?" asked Tilda. "Only an hour to go and I have to do her face."

"Grab a coffee, Tilda, there's a good girl." Harvey was working furiously to shape a few stray tendrils of hair.

"I don't want a coffee." Tilda sounded impatient. "I have work to do."

"Who said it was for you?" said Harvey. "I've finished! I could have used it."

"Goddamn comedian," complained Tilda, as everyone in the screened space laughed. "I'm not changing her face too much, Mr. Sanders. Her features and skin are already first-rate, so I'm just highlighting with foundation and blusher."

"That's great, Tilda," said Sanders approvingly. "What are you doing now?"

"Her lipstick is dark, so I'm putting some deeper color into her nipples. This color is B77," explained Tilda, working on Beverley's breasts with a fine brush. "Stand up, dearie, I have to do your butt now."

"I like your attention to detail," said Sanders approvingly. He looked around as another man came around the screen. "Ah, Beverley, meet Reggie Perkins, the owner of this store. Reggie, nice of you to let us have our book signing here."

Beverley wondered why they'd bothered with the screens. Everyone in the store at this time was inside the screened space, gawking at her nude body. She murmured a greeting to Perkins without moving her lips. Tilda had threatened violence if she opened her mouth in the next ten minutes.

"Ah, it'll be good for business," Perkins said. "We have five cartons of advance copies of the book. Are you expecting that many?"

"We've advertised Kayla Peradise will be here, but not that she'll be signing nude," explained Sanders. "The early comers will, no doubt, spread the word, and people will rush, but we'll spirit her away at noon." Reggie and he continued discussing the procedure and likely problems with Beverley as Tilda worked.

"Well, we're ready," said Tilda, stepping back from Beverley and looking at her from different angles. "Be careful, Mr. Sanders. You could have a riot on your hands!"