This is a long one folks, but it's broken up into sections. As usual, all people and places are fictional. All characters are over eighteen.
*****
"Are you Reaves Philip? Oh my gosh, I love your books!"
A middle-aged woman with natural gray hair tickling her eyelids hustled after Reaves on the sidewalk. She was determined to get a word with him even though he was trying to ignore her, walking along at his usual brisk pace.
"I read Last Dance For Nancy. I thought it was hilarious," she said, dodging oncoming pedestrians.
Reaves stopped and looked at her. His usual reader, he thought, glancing quickly at her motherish clothes and slightly paunchy body, but not the usual comment.
"I'm happy to hear you say that," Reaves said, looking deep into her light gray eyes. It struck him how lovely they looked, and how they complimented the gray hair most women want to banish. "It was meant as a comedy you know, but nobody seems to get it."
"I laughed so much," she said. "And when I finished it I laughed even more as I thought back on how it all played out. I think you're brilliant."
"I'm not, but thank you."
"I've read interviews you've done, and I know you hate this kind of thing, but could I get a picture with you?" she asked sheepishly.
The dreaded selfie. Reaves loathed them, but since she was one of the only readers who understood his latest book he agreed, pretending to be pleasant for a change. Out came the iPhone, in leaned her head, out stretched her arm and it was over, fairly painlessly. He'd had other fans attempt it, fiddling endlessly with the blasted device, insisting on taking another if it turned out badly, and then another. It was pure torture.
"I hope I don't embarrass myself too much saying this," she said as she put her phone away, "but the part of the chapter with the Craigslist hook-up? Oh my gosh, I don't know if I've ever read anything quite so erotic before. You should do more of that kind of thing. You've got a real gift for the hot stuff."
"It's funny you should mention that," Reaves said. "My publisher's after me for the same thing. I think he wants to cash in on the Fifty Shades wave."
"You could wipe the floor with that book," she said. "You're ten times the writer. Do a whole book of Craigslist hook-ups and I'll be first in line."
Reaves thanked her and went on his way, thinking how interesting it was that a middle-aged mother would find Craigslist hook-ups book-worthy.
The idea stuck, as some ideas do. Two weeks later it was still bouncing around his head. A rough idea started to formulate — a book about a writer researching a book about hook-ups. Big cities, small towns, the desert West where people live hundreds of miles apart. How would the 'Casual Encounters' section of Craigslist differ in those areas? How would the actual hook-ups differ? Why would it matter? It was an idea he wasn't sure about. Was there really a story there? Characters that people would want to read about?
———————
Reaves sat in his publishers office, feeling less than confident about his book idea. He'd never brainstormed an idea with anyone before, and certainly not with
publishers
, who he'd always had an uncomfortable relationship with, but this idea was very different from his usual books, and Poppy was a new and different kind of contact at the office. She'd been with him since his last book, and they hit it off differently. Their meetings were less about business and more about creativity. A direct result, Reaves assumed, of her upbringing. The daughter of hard-core hippies, Poppy had told him she was born in San Francisco in 1967, the Summer of Love. She neared The Big Five-O with grace and a seeming detachment from anything to do with trendy fashion. Reaves liked that about her.
"So...a new idea you want to bounce off me?" she said after the usual pleasantries.
"You know, I'm really ambivalent about this one," Reaves said. "A reader gave me the idea, and as you know I usually don't pay much attention to them," he laughed. "Drives Dean crazy I'm sure."
"Well, Dean's a great boss, but he's not the most in tune with the creative process," Poppy said. "So what did this reader have in mind?"
"Erotica."
Poppy smiled. "Ohhh! Dean will like that! Every meeting we have lately he's after us all to find the next "Fifty Shades of Grey." I'll tell you what, I think you'll be good at it. You've flirted with it a bit. I wouldn't have asked you for it, because I didn't think you wanted to go there, but yes, tell me more. Erotica is a big tent, what did you have in mind?"
"That's the thing," Reaves said. "I'm not really sure. The idea was to build on the Craigslist hook-up thing from Last Dance For Nancy. Take something like that and make a story out of it. I haven't been able to put my finger on the story angle, but the whole thing is stuck in my head and I need to sort it out and either do something with it or discard it."
"Okay, well that sounds intriguing," Poppy said. "What sort of angles have you thought of?"
A text buzzed on Poppy's personal cell phone. She glanced at the screen and set it down on her desk. "I'm sorry," she said. "My father's nurse. He's failing rather rapidly I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Reaves said. "Last I knew you thought the chemo was having an effect."
"It was short-lived unfortunately. He has a day nurse and I'm with him all evening and night. If I seem a bit scattered I'm running on empty these days."
Reaves took a deep breath. "I don't tell many folks about this, but my dad passed away from cancer," he said. "I helped my mother care for him. It was desperately sad. I hate to say it, but I wish I had kept my distance."
Poppy smiled sadly. "I'm beginning to understand that kind of thing."
"Thankfully most people aren't as deeply emotional as I am," Reaves said. "I think women handle those situations better."
"I'm not so sure about that," Poppy said, sensing the depth of Reaves' pain. "Did it scar you badly?"
"My most vivid memories of him are the ugliness of near death. It's a horrible thing to be left with. I want to remember his laugh, but usually what I see are those hollow eyes, the ones with that profound sense of doom in them." Reaves paused. "I'm telling you all the wrong things aren't I?"
"Probably," Poppy said, "but that's what I like about you. I should tell you I'll be taking a little time off at some point. I've spoken to Dean about it. He'll be handling my clients personally while I'm out."
"Oh, sure," Reaves said. "Yeah, you'll need to do that. I wish you and your dad all the best. A dignified death is a wonderful thing. I wish I had a child to take care of me when my day comes."
"So, back to the book," Poppy said. "You've done some research? I know how you like to research," she smiled.
"I have not," Reaves said. "Other than just reading ads for 'casual encounters' and things like that."
Poppy smiled. "Well, you see? There's already heat there, just from that simple phrase. Casual encounters. Maybe it's just the woman's perspective, but that makes me tingle."
"Yeah, that's what I mean. I think it might be a really fascinating world. But how to make a novel out of it? I don't know why I feel so stuck. I think it might be because I feel it more as a non-fiction book, almost like a Studs Terkle 'Working' kind of thing."
"Yes, well that would certainly interest us," Poppy said. "You've pretty much got carte blanche at this point, after all your success."
"That's nice to hear," Reaves said. "I guess the next thing to do is research. Can I confide something in you that I'd rather not have you tell Dean and the others? I'm going to jump in, in a personal way, and try and see this from the inside. I hope you don't see that as too odd, or unseemly. I'm not sure how far I'm going to go with it, but I...I feel a need to see the world from that angle, otherwise I don't think I can do it justice on the page."
