Author Anonymous: A True Story Page 3

  Brooke eyes me mischievously when I walk into our dorm room wearing the same clothes I wore last night. Heat burns my cheeks as I open my closet, attempting to avoid looking at her all-too-knowing stare, and strip off my clothes in exchange for the comfort of pajamas.

  Once changed, I hop onto my bed and slip under the covers.

  “Late night?” Brooke inquires with a sly tone to her voice.

  It’s the first time I’ve gone on a date with Landon and have not returned in the same night. I can’t help the slight timidity I feel, and I cannot control myself when I break out into uncomfortable laughter, pulling the sheets over my head.

  “You’re such a slut,” she teases through her own fit of giggles and throws a pillow at me. “Tell me every last detail.”

  Tossing the sheets off my heated face, I look over to Brooke, who’s sitting on her bed with a bad case of ratty bedhead and a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “I’m tired,” I tell her and try to push off the conversation. “Can we talk after I get some sleep?”

  “Umm . . . no. You can sleep after you tell me what it was you were doing all night when you were supposed to be here studying with me for our midterm.”

  “I’m sorry. I lost track of . . .” I stumble off and grin wildly, “well, everything.”

  “I bet you did. Now spill it. You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

  My smile is obnoxiously big.

  “I knew it! Damn, I’m jealous of you. That guy is so hot. Oh, my God,” she rambles. “How was it? I bet it was amazing. I mean, with a guy like that, it has to be mind blowing.”

  “Brooke!” My voice is playful as I scold her.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” She sets her coffee mug on the nightstand between our beds and does her best to compose herself. “Seriously though. How are you? I mean, this is a big step for you.”

  I straighten up as the joking subsides and a more serious tone takes hold of our conversation. “I told him about Trey.”

  “You hadn’t told him yet?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t really know how. It finally came out last night, and then . . . I don’t know, maybe it was all the emotion that drove me to sleep with him. Telling him and then hearing his response . . . His words were perfect, Brooke. I guess it was just everything about that moment.”

  “How do you feel about it now?”

  “Last night I felt needy for him after revealing that, but when I woke up this morning . . . with him . . . it felt right.”

  “I’m glad you told him and opened yourself up. It must feel like a weight off your shoulders,” she says warmheartedly, and I agree, saying, “Yeah. I was being standoffish with him. I knew he could tell I was keeping him at arm’s length. And now that he knows why, he’s put me at ease and has given me the reassurance I’ve been needing but was too scared to ask for.”

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “He is,” I respond, and when she picks up her coffee mug, I see the shift in her demeanor.

  “Now tell me, what was the sex like?” I burst out laughing and cover my face with a pillow as she goes on, “I bet he’s the intense type.”

  “Stop!”

  “A dirty talker.”

  “Brooke!” I shriek through a fit of hilarity.

  “A bed breaker.”

  “Anything to drink?” the stewardess asks as she stands with her hair in a perfect low bun, flawless makeup, and a smile way too big for it being so early in the morning.

  “Vodka cranberry.”

  I look over to Brooke, who stole the window seat from me. “It’s eight in the morning.”

  “Make that two vodka cranberries.”

  I shake my head and tell the stewardess, “An orange juice will be fine.”

  “With a side of vodka.” When I look to Brooke, she simply smiles innocently and says, “Come on. This Vegas signing only happens once a year. Lighten up.”

  “Do you remember what happened last year?”

  “How could I forget the guys from the Thunder from Down Under. Seeing them practically molest you on stage will go down as one of the highlights of my life!”

  “So humiliating.”

  “Humiliating? The look on your face told a different story,” she says with a devilish smirk. “To everyone in the audience, it looked like you were enjoying every second of that guy grinding up on you.”

  “I had way too much to drink. I blame the alcohol.”

  “Did you ever tell Landon?”

  “No. He’d be pissed if he ever found out,” I say a pitch too loudly. “Did you ever tell Chris how you made that stripper pole your bitch that night at the club?”

  “Of course I did.” Our drinks come, and after we dump the mini bottles of vodka into our juices, she adds, “He’s been jealous of that pole ever since.”

  We hold up our cups, and I toast, “To Vegas.”

  Once we land, collect our luggage, and make it to the hotel on the strip, we head up to our room and settle in. Brooke is immediately on the phone with the bellhop to have all the boxes she shipped to the hotel brought up to our room. As soon as they are delivered, I help Brooke organize the books that fans preordered. We bundle them, slap sticky notes with names on them onto the covers, and check them off the spreadsheet. We then verify the boxes filled with the swag she purchased: bookmarks, bracelets, magnets, and everything else readers gravitate to.

  A knock on our door pulls me away from the pile of books surrounding us on the floor, and when I open it, I’m thrilled to see my friend, Erin, another author who will be attending this event.

  We squeal and hug like giddy schoolgirls. When I started in this line of work, my friends faded away and I cemented myself to other authors. Writing is a very isolating job. When I’m deep in the writing process, I tend to shut everyone out. Most of my friends took it personally, but it wasn’t intentional on my part. It was just a gradual drift. Now, the majority of my friends are other authors, because we totally understand the lifestyle and are much more forgiving than those outside of this “sorority.” The one downside: the only time we get to see each other is if we happen to be at the same book signing.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Madilyn,” Erin says as we break our hug. We all address each other by our pen names. I know Erin’s real name, but never once have I thought about actually referring to her by anything other than her pseudonym. It’s an unspoken respect we authors give one another.

  Erin turns to Brooke to share an embrace as well. Brooke has been with me since day one. There isn’t a book signing she hasn’t attended with me, so all my friends are her friends too. I’m so lucky she’s been able to be a part of this whole experience with me. But I notice Erin’s assistant isn’t with her, and ask, “Where’s Jen?”

  Brooke’s head whips around in my direction with her rictus mouth. “How do you not know?”

  I look between the two of them. “Know what?”

  “Well, I only heard this through the gossip of a couple of the other authors that were at the last book signing in Dallas, but Erin would be the one to ask and confirm.”

  “Why does no one tell me anything?” I accuse.

  “Girl, it’s all drama in my camp,” Erin tells me.

  “What happened?”

  “So, remember last month in Dallas when we all went out after the signing to the Trophy Room Bar?”

  “How could I forget? Brooke got me drunk on tequila, and before I knew it, I was riding the mechanical bull.”

  “You owned that bull,” Brooke jokes.

  “Well, Jen also got drunk and decided to sneak out with Gabe.”

  “Your cover model?”

  “Yep.”

  Erin has used Gabe for the covers of her latest series. The fans go crazy for him when she brings him along to the book signings. Not all events will allow cover models, but Dallas did, and this signing here in Vegas will be loaded with them as well. It’s really not my thing. Most of them are just fame whores, but Gabe is a good guy
and has always been the epitome of humility.

  “Anyway,” Erin continues, “I didn’t know she had left with him until I got back to our hotel room.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says with an exaggerated nod. “He had her bent over on her knees, butt naked, pounding her from behind.”

  “Holy shit!”

  Brooke and I explode in laughter, and then Erin adds, “On my bed, mind you!”

  “Is that the story you heard, Brooke?”

  She looks at me and nods. “Mmm hmm. Apparently, Jen told someone with a blabby mouth because a group of authors were talking about it over breakfast in the hotel restaurant the next morning.”

  “Where the hell was I?”

  “Sleeping off your hangover.”

  “Well, now she’s too mortified to see him, so she stayed home,” Erin tells us.

  “Did you say anything to Gabe?”

  “I asked him what happened, and he just said they were both drunk and one thing led to another. He told me he called her, but she declined the call, and he wound up apologizing to her on her voicemail.” She shrugs her shoulders and says, “I mean, they’re both single, so it’s whatever. It doesn’t bother me as long as they can still act professional. I think it’ll be fine; she’s just embarrassed. It’ll all blow over with time.”

  “What does he look like naked?”

  “You’ll have to excuse Brooke; she was drinking on the plane.”

  “Don’t make excuses for her. We all know she would ask that same question even if she were stone sober.”

  We decide to spend the rest of the day shopping, and after a good night’s rest, we are up early eating room service and getting ready for the signing. The event coordinator sent up volunteers to pick up all the boxes from our room so they can get my table set up for me. It’s always hectic getting ready for these events. I’ll be signing books for the next five hours and taking countless photos. So, I take my time applying my makeup, making sure to put on enough of it so it doesn’t wear off halfway through the day. I enjoy it though, because my life as Tori basically consists of yoga pants, no makeup, and my hair up in a knot.

  “Are you ready?” Brooke asks as she applies a touch of mascara to her lashes.

  “Almost.” I scramble around the room, slip on a pair of heels, and give myself one last look before grabbing my cell.

  Before we can reach the ballroom where the signing is being held, we must first walk through the throng of fans that are already waiting. If only they could have a back entrance for the authors. It’s uncomfortable to watch everyone stare as I walk by. Not to mention the times when I have to use the restroom and there are fans in there who can hear me as I pee.

  Maybe it’s just me, but nonetheless, it’s awkward.

  Before the doors open to the readers, Gabe comes over to my table to say hello. I can’t blame Brooke for wanting to know what he looks like naked. He’s young, fit, and sexy as hell. But I’m well aware he probably just views me as a middle-aged housewife. I’m creeping close to mid-thirties, and I do what I can to stay in shape and stay young, but having kids has a way of physically—and mentally—aging you.

  “How are you?” I ask after we hug.

  “I’m good.”

  His muscles aren’t too obscene like some of the other models here, which to me, makes him all that more attractive. He wears a slim-fitting shirt and his hair is unruly, but I know he spent a good amount of time styling it to look that way.

  “You look like you’re firming up,” he says as he looks me up and down.

  “I’ve been doing those new workouts you showed me.”

  “It’s paying off,” he tells me and then peers over my shoulder. “What’s that shit-eating grin all about?”

  “You know what it’s about,” Brooke says with mild flirtation.

  “Ignore her.”

  “You women gossip too much.”

  “She’s just jealous it was Erin who walked in on you and not her.”

  Gabe looks down at me and, with a hushed voice, admits, “I didn’t mean for that to be a one-time thing, you know?”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “She won’t take my calls, and it isn’t really something I want to tell her over voicemail.”

  “Give her time. She’s just a little embarrassed.”

  Gabe joins Erin at her table and the doors open up. Since I just released a book last month, my line is consistently long. I try not to look up at the sea of people in this room, as it tends to overwhelm me, so I stay focused on the fans that are right in front of me. I smile and autograph books to the point of hand cramps. Getting to meet the readers who enjoy my books is what makes this job so rewarding. It’s thrilling to see their excitement.

  Tori doesn’t exist in this moment, it’s all Madilyn—sizzling hot author.

  Loading the dishwasher and washing her husband’s underwear isn’t a part of Madilyn’s life. No. When I’m her, I’m the woman who’s free from being tied down to family obligations. I’m the woman who can let loose, take shots, and ride a mechanical bull. I’m the woman who can laugh while being dry humped by a male stripper as an audience cheers. This is my escape; these are my moments of freedom. I love my home life, but I love this life too.

  “I’m drained,” I moan as I kick off my heels and fall onto the bed.

  “Don’t get too comfortable. I was talking to a few of the girls and told them we would meet them down in the lounge for cocktails and dinner.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Thirty minutes,” Brooke responds.

  I rest my head on the pillow and watch mindlessly as Brooke counts the money I made from book sales and separates her cut from the pile of bills. She then packs the leftover swag before freshening up her makeup.

  Soon, I’m joining her. With a quick change of clothes and a mist of perfume, we are out the door. The girls are already at the table and waiting for us when we arrive. We drink and gab as only authors do. It’s a lot of gossip and sex talk. Most of these women have loud and strong personalities, so I tend to sit back and take it all in as they go back and forth.

  “Congratulations on your last book, Madilyn,” Amy, the author sitting next to me says.

  “Thank you.”

  “Didn’t it hit the New York Times?”

  “Yeah.” I respond excitedly.

  “How do you keep the momentum?” she asks, garnering the attention of a few of the other girls at the table.

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “What are you working on now?” another author asks me.

  “Good question. I’m having a case of writer’s block. I need to find some inspiration, so I’ve been listening to a lot of music, but nothing is sparking.”

  The waiter delivers another round of drinks, and as I take a sip of my lemon drop martini, Kristen, another New York Times bestselling author says to the whole group, “You want to know where I go for inspiration?” When eyes turn to her, she sets down her glass of wine and continues. “There’s this fetish website another author told me about.”

  “FetLife?” Amy asks.

  “That’s the one. Have you been on there?”

  Amy nods and a few of the other girls announce they’ve gone on it too.

  “I’m seriously the last to know about everything,” I whine in jest. “So what do you do on this website?”

  Kristen looks at me from the other end of the table. “It’s kind of like Facebook for the freaky. Don’t get me wrong, there’s light stuff on there as well, but it’s a lot of different people who have various fetishes from polygamy, BDSM, swingers, group sex, voyeurism, foot worship, to adult babies and shit like that.”

  “What the fuck is an adult baby?” Brooke asks as I laugh and then take another drink.

  “You know, people who wear diapers and act like they’re a baby.”

  “People are into that? Like, sexually?” I ask in disbelief.

  “It’s a real thing,”
Amy confirms. “That site has so much stuff I’ve never even heard of. But you can join groups and message people. I had to do that for one of the books I wrote.”

  “The threesome one?”

  “Yes. I wound up in a group chat with this triad. They were actually really nice and forthcoming, allowing me to ask questions and stuff.”

  “That book was so hot,” I tell her and then turn to Brooke, knowing she doesn’t read any of these books, and boast, “Seriously, you should read it. It was off the charts when it comes to erotica.”

  We continue to chat books when our food arrives, and once we are done, Erin suggests we hit up one of the night clubs. Everyone is game, so we hail a cab and make our way to a club filled with some of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. Brooke and I take a couple shots before hitting the dance floor. We dance with each other, dance with random guys, dance with the other girls, all the while laughing, drinking, and living it up until the early hours of the morning.

  The sun is on the horizon as we load into a taxi van and head back to our hotel so we can get a few hours of sleep before we have to pack and fly home. With booze on our breath, we all say goodbye until we see each other at the next signing. I spend the next few hours as Madilyn passed out in my bed and then guzzling countless Gatorades in the airport while I hide my bloodshot eyes behind my sunglasses.

  “Another awesome Vegas trip.”

  I look over to Brooke and smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  It’s edging close to midnight as I pull the car into the garage. When I grab my luggage from the trunk and head into the house, irritation slaps me across the face the moment I flick on the lights. The girls’ books and art supplies are strewn across the living room, and the kitchen sink is filled with dirty dishes.

  Goodbye Madilyn; hello Tori.

  A glow peeks under the bottom of my bedroom door, and I do my best to bite against the bitter taste of annoyance as I walk in and see Landon lying in bed, watching television.

  “Welcome home,” he says. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine,” I snip as I wheel my luggage into the closet.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just perfect.”