Mentor Ch 04

"My daughter is coming up today," said Simon, over our morning coffee.

I looked up, surprised. I didn't think she was supposed to come until the dinner party, which was still five days away. Seeing this, he shrugged.

"The girl has a way of springing surprises on me. She's just like her father, I suppose," he added.

"So I guess I'm moving back to the guest house," I said with a sigh. The prospect disappointed me, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause trouble for Simon and his family. He nodded.

"It would be best. But she won't be staying in the house the entire time. She has a lot of friends in the area. I don't have any doubt that she'll spend most of the next few days visiting them, and staying away from her boring old dad and his boring old writing friends as possible."

"Boring writer friends?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Present, charming company being the exception, of course."

We got my things to the guest house and Simon left, heading to the airport to pick up Samantha. I knew he would be gone for at least two hours, possibly three, so for the first time in the long week since I had been there I fired up my computer and got to work on book number three.

I didn't expect to actually get anything done, and true to that I spent the first twenty minutes staring at a blank page in my word processer, wondering where I could possibly begin. Then, an idea struck. And then, another idea. My fingers started to fly across the keyboard, filling up that blank page, and I had already typed close to five-thousand words worth of my story when I heard a car pull up outside and moved to look out the window.

Simon got out of his car, followed closely by a woman around my age with very long and very straight black hair that fell straight down to her waist. She was wistfully pretty- like a fairy tale princess. For the first time, in a long while, I felt slightly self-conscious. I was wearing battered old jeans and a light sweater, my ginger red hair pulled up into a messy bun and black-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on my nose.

Not that I would be competing with her, I reminded myself. She was his daughter, after all.

And that was when, for the first time really, the age difference between myself and Simon really hit home.

"He's old enough to be my father," I muttered. "Older than my father," I corrected, thinking of my own beloved dad, dead in the ground at forty-five. And Becky was only a couple of years younger than me – a fresh, young twenty years old.

I went back to my writing, not wanting to interrupt their family reunion. Another two hours passed, and another few thousand words, when I heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. Simon was standing there, his arm around Becky's waist.

"Oh my gosh! It's really you!" she said. "I told my friends you were staying at my place for a little while, and they didn't believe me. We're all big fans!"

"Uhm..." I pulled the glasses off my face, offering her my hand. "So you're Becky, right? Nice to meet you."

Becky squealed, taking my hand and shaking it enthusiastically. Then she spotted my computer, with all those words splashed across the page. "Is that the next in the series?" she said, almost stammering with excitement. "Oh my gosh! Can I.."

"No. You can't read it," said Simon, putting his hand on her shoulder as if she would have darted into the room and looked if he hadn't stopped her. From the way she was bouncing on her heels, I thought that might be the case.

"Oh, come on. Just a peek?" she wheedled.

I looked at Simon and smiled. "Maybe I can show you my notes, later," I said. "But not the actual story. Nobody, even Simon, sees it until its published."

"Oh, all right," she said, not seeming displeased at all. "I wanted to come right on over, but dad said that you were busy. Are you going to come and have lunch with us?" she asked.

"Uhm...I'd actually really love that," said Simon. "Unless you're too caught up with your work."

"Not at all. In fact, I just came to a great stopping point," I said. I went to the computer, saving my work and closing it down. Then I followed Simon and Becky back down to the house.

Over lunch, I saw what Simon had said when he told me that Becky was very much like him, in many ways. She was a happy, cheerful person, and despite my original misgivings about spending so much time around her, when I was having an affair with her father, I realized that I genuinely liked her.

"I can't imagine doing something as awesome as you've done, at your age," she said as she tucked into her pasta primavera. "Even dad didn't publish his first book until he was twenty-eight."

"Twenty-seven," he corrected with a glare.

Becky rolled her eyes. "Whatever, close enough," she said. "You're going to be like...a legend," she said.

"I don't know about that," I said.

"Oh come on. Is it true that there's a movie deal in the works for the first book? That's what they're buzzing about on all the blogs."

"Well..." I glanced over at Simon, surprised that I hadn't even thought to share this information with him. "My agent is in talks with Warner Brothers and Paramount right now. But I don't want to sign on the dotted line until the third book is finished."

"A movie deal," he said, nodding. "Very impressive. Our little Mona is really going places."

"So have you heard from Kate?" asked Becky, turning to Simon. "I feel like I haven't seen her in forever."

"You haven't seen her since Christmas," said Simon. "I called her on the drive over to pick you up. She's doing fine. They're going to be doing some shows in Tokyo, then Milan. After that she's doing an art show in New York before heading home."

"Mom finally bought her first Kate Chase original," Becky joked. "The long, blue gown she released on her winter line."

"Ah, good to see your mother is finally trying to catch a younger man," Simon joked.

Becky rolled her eyes, turning to me. "My mom is a total cougar," she said.

"My ex-wife and I divorced about five years after Becky here was born. Since then, she's dated every young model on the face of the planet. And she's the one who introduced me to Kate," he added.

"Your ex-wife introduced you to your current wife?" I asked, interested despite the subject matter.

"We're a weird family," said Becky with a laugh.

You have no idea, I thought, looking over at Simon.

"So hey," said Becky, "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go shopping or something? I'm sure dad's showed you around here, but he doesn't know the sort of things a girl likes to see when she's on vacation."

"Uhm, sure," I said, then realizing just how long it had been since I went shopping with any of my friends, added, "that would be great, actually."

"Awesome! How about tomorrow afternoon?" When I nodded she squealed, yet again. "I'm going shopping with Ramona Blackburn!" she said. "How awesome is that?"

The next day I woke up bright and early. I missed the fact that I wouldn't get to share coffee with Simon, or indulge in the morning sex that I had gotten used to, but with that possibility taken away from me I instead settled down with my computer and started writing. I seem to have hit my writing streak – the words were flowing out of me, the story forming itself as if by magic on the page.

I thought an hour or two had passed, and was surprised when I heard a knock at the door to realize that it was already after noon. I made my way over, pulling it open to see Becky standing there in skinny jeans, high heels, and a flirty ruffled top. She looked me over, taking in my old jeans and university sweatshirt.

"I was writing," I said, in defense of myself. Becky laughed.

"Oh, no problem. But you might want to change. We're going Uptown."

"Ah. Right," I said. I stepped back, inviting her in. "Just give me a second," said, leaving the room. Then, realizing I had left the computer running, poked my head back into see her leaning over the computer. "No peeking!" I called out.

Becky groaned dramatically and I laughed. I went to my suitcase, picking out a nicer pair of jeans and a light blue top. Considering what my activities had mostly been for the past week, hardly any of the clothes that I had packed for my trip had even been worn. I slipped the clothes on and came back outside, surely enough to see Becky settled in front of the computer.

"Sorry! I couldn't resist," she said. Then she sighed. "The story is just...awesome. I can't even...wow."

"Thanks," I said, taking the computer back from her.

Then, Becky looked at me, her eyes widening. "And you're really pretty, too," she said. "You're so lucky. I have no talent and I'm nowhere near as gorgeous as you are."

"Are you kidding?" I said. "I'd kill for long, black hair like that. Everybody called me the leprechaun growing up. Then I got too tall and everybody called me the Jolly Red Giant."

"So do you have a boyfriend?" she asked as we made our way outside, following the path from the guest house and down to the driveway.

"Not right now," I said, thinking of Simon sitting up in the house and probably working on some of his own writing.

"Why not? You're rich, famous, and gorgeous."

I shrugged. "I guess I'm just too busy, now," I said. And I was surprised to find that, in a way, this was true. This had always been true, and was the reason I had never been involved in a serious relationship before in my life. After my dad had died, I devoted myself to my studies in college.

I was an all A student, top of my class. And then, during the one summer that I had had any time to myself, I had gotten the wild idea to start writing my book. Then it had been published, and I spent he long hot summer after my college graduation driving myself in my old, battered Toyota from town to town across the country, promoting it.

Then, somehow, the book had become famous, and the car rides had turned to airplane rides, and my life had really taken off.

"Well, you'll find someone," she said, sliding into the driver's seat of her car. I got in after her and watched the house disappear as we drove through the small town and out onto the highway, which Becky took at breakneck speed until we found ourselves entering what looked to be one of the richer areas around there.

We pulled up at a large mall, parking inside a large parking garage. It wasn't until we took a few steps inside that I realized just what kind of place that she had brought me too.

Burberry, Dolce and Gabbana, Prada, Valentino – and, prominently, the Kate Chase boutique – all lined either side of the massive, modern brick corridors. Men who looked like they could be models and young and older women in designer labels walked along, all acting as if they were preening for invisible cameras.

"You really did mean Uptown," I said in astonishment.

Becky shrugged. "You can afford it, can't you?" Then she froze, looking mortified. "I mean...I just assumed..."

"No, I can afford it," I quickly assured her. I hadn't even checked the state of my bank accounts in a month or so, but knew for a fact that I was now settled well into the seven figures. "I just...haven't, yet," I said. "Except I did buy one of Kate's dresses, back last year when I had dinner with the both of them."

"Yeah, Kate told me about that. She also told me you had the figure of a model and didn't even know it," she said. "Come on. Dolce and Gabbana first, then maybe we'll stop in and get you something at Burberry."

The shopping was a whirlwind experience, if ever there was one. Becky prodded me into trying on jeans that were more expensive than my high school prom dress, coats that cost more than my laptop, and, finally, dresses that cost more than my first car.

We were standing in the middle of the store as a handful of shop ladies hovered around me. Becky had picked out a black gown for herself. "I need a new one for the book awards this fall," she said. "Kate's going to be out of the country again, so dad is taking me."

I felt a little pang in my chest, wishing that it was me that he could take with him. Then I thought of that periwinkle gown I had been wearing, so long ago, on the night when Simon had taken my virginity. I felt my face flush with the memory, but thankfully nobody was paying attention to me at that time. Finally, though, the shop ladies turned their attention my way.

"Now, what about you?" asked Becky.

"I don't need..."

"Of course you do," she said cheerfully. "You're going to have lots of book awards coming up, now that it's hit number one on the charts. So don't say anything, and let's have a look."

I sighed, but realized that Becky was probably right. So I went to the back of the story, where dress after dress was brought out to me. Becky turned as many of them away as I did, deciding for me. It didn't bother me as much as I thought it might, especially since it was starting to feel as if I had a real friend – one who wasn't too concerned with work, or family, or having babies, to spend time with me.

We had already picked out three gowns when the last, and best, was brought out in front of us. It was a deep sapphire blue, closely fitted and low cut. "You're trying that on!" hissed Becky,

her eyes wide open in admiration.

I did. And immediately, I knew that I had to have the dress. It hugged my every curve to perfection, pressing my breasts up and together. The cut in the back hugged my waist and curved down, almost revealing the top curve of my ass. I felt sexier than I ever had, when I wasn't with Simon. "It's mine," I breathed, making Becky laugh.

So I handed over my card, trying not to let the poor girl that was still buried deep inside me protest, and took the dress – along with my other purchases – back to Simon's guest house.

I saw Simon very little over the next few days, becoming closer and closer to Becky as she dragged me to all her own favorite places to see more of the town. On the third day, Becky decided that we were both going to go to a cocktail party with some of her friends. Confessing that he had missed out on a lot of writing, and giving me a

knowing wink, he sent us on our way.

I was wearing a little red dress, another find from my shopping day with Becky, as we drove up to a large mansion on a hill, an hour away from Simon's house.

"These are definitely not my kind of people," I observed. "I came from this small town...middle of nowhere sort of place."

"Well, they're your kind of people now," said Becky. "And it's not as bad as it looks. They aren't stuffy or stuck up, I promise. Most of these people are already out of college – young

professional types."

I was nodding as she parked, although I had my doubts. I got out of the car and made my way up the curve of a small hill, Becky leading the way. She wrang the doorbell and a man who was only a little older than me answered, smiling at Becky

and then looking past her to appraise me.

"Becky, nice to see you could come. And who is your lovely friend?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could announce to the world who I was I put out my hand and shook it. "Mona. Mona Black," I said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Charmed," he said, grinning. He stepped aside and let me and Becky in.

I saw quickly that Becky had probably decided to come to this particular party for my benefit. Although there were a few people her age around, most were older even than me. I guessed the average age of the people there to be in their late twenties. The men wore dinner jackets and ties, and with very few exceptions almost all the women were dressed in classic black.

"Mona Black?" said Becky, seeming amused.

I shrugged, laughing it off. "It's still weird, everybody knowing who I am. Let this be my night of anonymity."

"Whatever floats your boat," said Becky. She took me around the room, and I quickly realized that most of the people there who weren't professionals in their own right were the offspring of somebody big and important. I met heirs and heiresses, professors, engineers, doctors, and even an inventor who had made it big on a slew of direct to television products.

Surprisingly, they were all nice – something I hadn't really expected. I was in the middle of a drink when I suddenly heard the name of my book brought up in conversation nearby.

Becky was busy, talking to a young (and very attractive) dentist, so I slipped away unnoticed to stand next to the group that was discussing it.

"It's literary garbage," said one bored looking man. "Just awful. Everybody is talking about how wonderful it is, the author is...what is it, twenty-four, twenty-five? Something like that? Really, it's just a bunch of thrown together allusions to ancient myth with a handful of carbon copy characters, and..."

"It's not really that bad," said a young woman. "I got a laugh out of it."

"And you aren't just jealous because your own book got turned down...again?" said a different man. He looked to be about thirty, with pale blonde hair and a chiseled face. The others turned to look at him in surprise.

"Cameron..."

"No, please, go on," said the man. "Criticize it all you want. But I think you should be able to defend your arguments. Personally, I think the book is pioneering. The characters aren't cardboard cut outs – they're lively and engaging."

Becky had finally heard what was being said and she came over. Her eyes widened when she realized that my book was being discussed, and she opened her mouth to say something, but I put my finger up to my lips to silence her.

Although I had heard criticisms of my books before – everybody has critics – this was the first time that I had heard my books criticized, right to my face. I had been shaking with fury when all of a sudden this mysterious man had started to speak.

"And furthermore," he said, "She manages to be original and unique without forcing it down the reader's throat. That is very rare in fiction these days. Unlike your fiction, Jack, which is precisely why it's never been published."

There was a smattering of applause by the people gathered around and the man, who I assumed to be Jack, took the arm of the woman who had been talking and led her away.

"Way to go, Cameron!" said Becky. He turned around, spotting her. When he did he smiled.

"How's Miss Whatley?" he said, coming over and giving her a huge hug.

"Better now that I'm seeing you! I had no idea you were going to be in town." She turned around, facing me. "Mona? This is Cameron Parker. He teaches literature at Harvard."

"Mona? Nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand toward mine. "And what do you do?"

"I...have my BA in English," I said. "But I write, too," I added. From over Cameron's shoulder Becky winked at me, and it was difficult for me not to laugh.

"And she's really good!" said Becky.

Cameron looked suddenly at me, and then at Becky. "Excuse us for a moment," he said, releasing my hand as he pulled Becky aside. He said something to her in a tone of voice too low for me to hear, and all of a sudden she laughed. They continued talking for a few moments, and finally they came back over.

"Cameron thought you might be using me to get to dad," she said, rolling her eyes. "I set him straight. Dad was the one who introduced me to you, isn't that right Mona?"

"Oh!" I laughed. "Yes, exactly."

"Well, that's good to hear," he said. "I'm sorry

if I was being presumptuous."

"Not at all. Ooh! Excuse me, I have someone I want to talk to," said Becky, and with that she moved away across the crowded room, leaving me alone with Cameron.

"Have you known her long?" I asked.

Cameron laughed. "Years," he said. "My father was Theodore Parker."

"The Theodore Parker?" I said with a gasp. "He's...he..."

"Exactly," he said. "Back when I was young, my father and Simon would spend hours working on material in our den. It was my job to watch over Becky. She annoyed the hell out of me at first, but over time she turned into...well, she's like a little sister to me. Hey, it's stuffy in here...want to move out to the balcony?" he asked.