Chapter 1

I watched her as she came up the path toward me. She had a ponytail that was swinging and she was moving along at a good clip. Damn, I didn't need the interruption.

I figured she was probably selling something. I was into the next to last chapter in the book I was composing. I was finishing the final conflict and soon all would be right with my hero. Soon I would be writing the epilogue. This was the last book in a series of three. I was putting this particular character to bed.

Oh well, I had better see what she wanted. I just knew from the way she was moving that she wouldn't hesitate to bang on my door. I waited as she ran up the steps. I opened the door and it surprised her so much she nearly fell into the room.

"Yes Miss, what can I do for you?"

"There is a man following me. I lost him in the dense woods, but I'm sure he will come here when he gets to your path. Why don't you have a road? Where is your car?"

"Well Miss, I don't own a car, so I don't need a road."

"How do you get into town? I need to get away from here."

"There is a bicycle in the shed, you can use that. You'd have to leave some money with me before I would let you take it."

"You're a horrible man. Don't you trust anyone?"

"No."

That set the woman back enough so she was speechless, but not for long I soon found out. She tried a different tack. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to be suspicious of women who arrive at my door demanding I do something for them."

"Are you afraid of women?"

"Some of them. I trusted my mother and I trusted my sister."

"What about your wife? Most men are married by your age."

"Her I didn't trust. You appear to be a lot like her, ergo, I don't trust you. Why don't you leave? I'm sure your imagined stalker is just that."

"He is real, but you don't seem to care if I was attacked and violated."

"I'd mind if I knew you maybe, but I don't know you. There are many tragedies that go on in this world that I don't know about. When you go down the path, I'll forget you were here and anything that happens to you is not my problem." She stared at me in disbelief at my uncaring attitude.

She spoke now in a rush. "My name is Pamela Becker and the man I spoke about was my boyfriend. I'm twenty-two and I just broke up with him because he was seen doing things with another girl. We were engaged, but he cheated, and the man I want to share my life with can't do that.

"I just graduated from college, majoring in English and journalism. Top three percent of my class, I might add. My father is dead and my stepmother, whom I love dearly, didn't like my boyfriend because she didn't trust him and I have to apologize to her because she was correct." She paused out of breath and then continued, "There, you know me now and that puts some responsibility on you to look out for me." Defiant, she looked at me.

"I guess it does, doesn't it. Too late to go into town and it will be dark before we get there. You'll have to spend the night. Are you afraid to stay here with me?"

"Maybe a little. I don't know your name or anything about you, or not much anyway. I know you live alone out in the woods and hate women. Would you pretend I am your sister visiting you, and you are glad to see me?"

"I could do that, I guess. 'Course I've lied a bit. I don't have a sister so wouldn't know how to treat you. Oh hell, here is my cell phone. Call your mother or a friend and tell them you are staying overnight with John Booker Smith, the author."

Pamela screamed, "You're JB Smith? I've read all of your novels. In fact you are the author who has inspired me to want to make writing my career." She backed off and examined me. "You don't look as old as I thought you would. Nowhere near as old as the pictures on the jackets of your book covers. Can I call Mom now? She loves you as much as I do. I mean she loves your novels." Always nice to know I have fans out there!

Pamela stepped outside so she wouldn't be overheard. I wondered if she was ever going to come back inside. I had to break her call off, telling her the meal was getting cold. I served her some macaroni and cheese cooked on top of the stove and a hotdog, ending the meal with an apple for dessert.

I never did get back to writing this evening. I mean when you have an adoring fan arriving the way Pamela did, you have to sit and entertain her. She told me a little more about herself. Enough anyway to know she was serious in becoming a writer. Mostly she asked me about what it was like to find myself a renowned author.

"You don't find yourself an author. I have been serious about this ever since I was an early teenager. I took some correspondence courses and sold my first book when I was nineteen. Thank god it is out of print now and it is best forgotten. Not that it was bad, but because it was good. Profitable as well. My wife..." I stopped and went on in a different vein. "At the time, it boosted my ego and kept me from giving up writing. I have been fortunate to have some editors take the time to work with me.

"The downside was that I didn't pay attention to my childhood sweetheart and lost her two years after we were married."

"She cheated on you, is that it?"

"No, I can't say that about her. It was more that I cheated by focusing so heavily on my work. Writing was and is my mistress. My wife gave me plenty of warning, but I wouldn't listen. My addiction to writing was stronger than my love for her. She did cry as she left."

"Do you ever think about her?"

"Of course."

"What happened to her? Don't you have any contact with her at all?"

"No contact. When we met to settle things for the divorce, it was the last time we were together. A mutual friend told me she is married to a man older than she is. Other than that I know nothing about her. I'm sure with the success I have had writing, she knows about me. Even though it hurts me to say this, she was wise in divorcing me. I'm just not husband material. Case in point, a beautiful young woman right now is sitting across from me and I'm resenting the fact that I'm not in my office pounding on a keyboard."

"You're hateful, and you hate women!"

"That's the way I am."

"I'm shocked, I thought John Booker Smith was straight. You are able to write such steamy love scenes, but I don't ever remember reading any gay passages in any of your books."

"I'm not gay. Those steamy sexual scenes come from pure research on the female gender. Physical as well as otherwise."

"I'm tempted to get you to prove it."

"No, you won't. We'd start a relationship and then you would get to thinking I was husband material. You couldn't help falling in love with me and I'd break your heart. You're too nice and beautiful for me to do that to you."

"God, do you ever have a huge ego! You did pay me a compliment though, and I thank you for that. Where am I going to sleep? If I'm going to brag about this, I have to be able to describe everything about John Booker Smith and where he lives and works."

"You know I could run you into town if you'd rather. I kind of lied about that as well. I do have a car parked the other side of the lawn behind some bushes. You came up the back way. There is a road going down to Rt 9, which is only a mile from here. Haven't you heard the cars and trucks on the highway?"

"I did, but I thought the road was further away. I'd like to stay, if I may. My mom will kill me if I don't. I know she reads your books, but she has always sounded as if there was more than that when she was asking about you."

"Maybe your Mom likes my work a little too much and fantasizes about the creator. That happens. Not too often, but I have had a woman rush up to me and try to kiss me. It is embarrassing for both of us. When that happens, I usually buy the woman a cup of coffee and sometimes we become friends. Nothing ever more than that."

"Oh come on, I don't believe you."

"Think what you want, it is true. If I want a woman, be assured I'm the one that does the hunting. I'm not one to begin a relationship on the spur of the moment either. The boundaries are laid out well before I become intimate with the opposite sex."

"Do you ever have any fun in your life? It seems as if you live a sterile existence here. Oh, I think you do experience everything, but you have to have a plan before it happens. Don't you ever let it all hang out?"

"Enough about me. What about you? Tell me about yourself."

"Typical person in today's world. Had some unhappiness losing my mother at fourteen. Dad filled in for her until he met my stepmom. She turned out to be a wonderful choice for both my dad and me. I have come to love her as much as I did my Mom. I think she must be about your age, only eight years older than I am."

"It sounds as if you were extraordinarily lucky in the choice your father made. No money worries?"

"None. Dad made his pile before my real mother passed away. He was chased by a couple of women for a few months before he met Janis. She came to the marriage with some money of her own. There was a prenup, but that was mostly to protect me. I have been well protected and I still am. Janis has set up a trust for me with most of my father's money, even though I was left some outright. That's the kind of person she is."

I guessed I had better delve into this stepmom a little deeper. "What was this Janis' name before she married your father? Where was she from?"

"You are as bad as Mom. You ask questions, just like she did of me earlier. I think her maiden name was Gamaele--that's pronounced with a soft G. She was born in Connecticut and moved to New Hampshire as a child. She took her maiden name back when she divorced and I don't know what her married name was. Does that answer all of your questions?"

"I guess I was getting personal about something that doesn't concern me." (It did concern me, because Janis Gamaele at one time was my wife.) "What about you? Why are you in Brattleboro and where are you staying?"

"I am staying in a motel on Putney Road. My ex-boyfriend followed me here and foolish me, I agreed to talk to him and listen to the explanation of why he was cheating on me. I got in his car and we started to ride around. He parked at a wide spot beside the highway and we talked. When I wouldn't believe his lies and take him back, he became abusive. Not physically, but verbally. I jumped out and ran into the woods. I circled around and that's when I found your path."

"And here you are."

"Here I am, yes. This has to be the most interesting experience of my life." She wasn't done. "I have met one of my favorite writers and got to know some things about him. One of which, he is not above lying to a person. It makes me wonder just what kind of a person you really are. I think your profile may be somewhere between what your book jacket tells me and what you have said about yourself this afternoon."

"You could be right. You still haven't said why you are here in Brattleboro. I'm assuming you went to school at UVM?"

"Yes I did. The thing of it is, a bunch of us were looking for different local authors on the Internet. Your name, of course, came up. You don't use Vermont for a location in any of your books. You use the wide world for that. There is one author that has several stories set in and around Brattleboro. He has no profile on the website he posts his stories on. It made me curious about the town. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

"Yes, I think you are referring to Hugo. He is a friend of mine. It was I who encouraged him to begin writing. He didn't start until after he was seventy. His preferred genre are westerns, although he has never been west. He claims he has read enough westerns so he is confident enough to write his own. He sticks mostly to romances with happy endings, hence the name Hugo that he uses as his pen name.

"Westerns aren't his only settings. History plays some parts in his stories. He is pretty good at taking one situation or one of his ancestors and building a story around it, or them."

"I know all of this. It took me awhile to realize sometimes he seems to write for his own enjoyment, letting the words just land on the page. Other times he has more meat to the story and does some research, building the fiction with his characters."

"You are so right. I do the same thing and I post on the same website. The stories I post have more sex in them than what I write in my books. Does that tell you anything more about me?"

"I guess I'll have to think about that before I can say. I know the website, tell me what name you write under."

"No, not tonight. You'd think me a dirty old man and wouldn't want to stay here."

"Hey, I'm just out of college. You don't think I studied all of the time, do you? UVM is a great party school. Remember too, I'm just coming off a two-year relationship. We did more than hold hands."

"Do you miss him?"

"It is weird that I should after how he disrespected me so, but I do. Oh well, I'm sure I will find someone. You know what, it could be you."

"No way. I'm just not the right person for you. I will say I am interested in your career as a writer and I'd like to keep in touch."

"Okay, then. Have you got a tee shirt I can put on to sleep in?" I found her one that had JBS embroidered on the pocket. She looked at me. "May I keep this?"

"Sure. More bragging rights for you. Who am I to deny a fan."

"Thanks from a fan who thinks you have a great big ego that is boundless, but I will take it anyway." I showed her my bedroom, which left me the smaller room. I heard her banging open my bureau drawers and looking in my closet.

I spoke through the door. "Are you having fun in there?"

"I am. High school reunion is in two weeks. I'm going to wow my classmates."

"Careful young lady, you're going to be growing cojones of brass and you won't be the sweet young thing I have come to know and love."

"Who cares," came floating through the door. "I'll never have another chance again like this."

I suppose if I hadn't found out my ex-wife was this girl's stepmother, I wouldn't have offered her my bedroom. I rarely thought of Janis now. What I had felt for her at one time now came rushing back. I wondered if she had aged well. I was pleased that Pamela thought so much of her. Why?

I thought back to Janis and our breakup. I could see her point now after so many years had passed. At the time I thought she was being too unreasonable. One conversation led to another conversation and soon we were shouting at each other. Things were said we couldn't take back.

She just couldn't understand that I had to write. How else was I going to support her? It still burned me when I thought about the first book I had published. Wonders, it turned up on several must read lists and was very profitable. Profitable for her, anyway. She asked for the royalties in the divorce settlement and received all that the book generated. This left me starting again from scratch, but that wasn't all bad either. I could concentrate on my chosen path.

Again it was a blessing to be so focused for it let me forget Janis and what our marriage had deteriorated into. So had she done well in her second marriage? Must be. That was good and I was glad to hear about it from someone who had feelings for her. Pamela still hadn't said where home was. I assumed she and Janis lived together, or would now that Pamela was finished with college.

I went into the bathroom, showered, shaved and went into my bedroom. I heard Pamela shower while I was drifting off to sleep. I was up at three for a pee break. Her underwear was draped over the towel rail. It had been a long time since this had happened here in my workplace. Not unusual at my downtown home, although not that often there either.

My thoughts swung to Janis again and a longing came unbidden into my mind. I cursed Pamela for bringing up her name and the return of pain I thought I had stripped from my memories. My plan now was to get Pamela into town and forget her and her stepmother as soon as possible.