painting that Aunt Kit had left me. I loved it more than any other object.
On the negative side was my financial situation. Negative meaning, in the red, out of credit, here comes trouble, what now, dear God, that kind of thing. And my career as a romance writer, since I hadn’t earned out my last advance. I suppose we shouldn’t forget my car, which was gasping its last. And definitely, you could add the phone, which was now ringing, and which never brings anything good.
I let it shrill on and on until I heard my agent, Lola, on the answering machine.
“Pick up, Fiona, darling. You’ll be glad you did.”
I picked up. As a rule, I put Lola on the positive side. Even though she was calling at nine in the evening. After the day I’d had, I might have already gone to bed, except that Liz was still there and showed no sign of leaving.
Lola takes a little getting used to. By getting used to, I mean three things: first, don’t expect her to actually listen to anything you have to say and second, do expect to be startled by almost every word that flies out of her mouth. For a third, don’t be surprised that she calls everyone darling, even, say, police officers attempting to give her speeding tickets.
Lola had what she thought was a great idea.
“I should write a what?” I said, predictably startled by her opening gambit.
“An erotic cookbook. Isn’t that too perfect? I told your assistant this afternoon. I hadn’t realized that you had an assistant.”
“Sorry?” I said again, thinking I must have heard wrong. Something that happens quite often with Lola.
“Never mind, darling. It’s none of my business if you have an assistant when you’re too broke to breathe.”
“Listen, Lola. Your confidence in me is gratifying, but there’s no way I can write an exotic cookbook.”
“Erotic!” Lola shrieked.
“What? Erotic? Are you insane? That’s even worse. That’s not even possible.”
“Bixby and Snead are keen to have you do one. They’ll really play it up on next fall’s list. There’s a spot, and the topic’s hot.”
“What do you mean they’re keen to have me do one? Do you think maybe they have me mixed up with someone else? Say, for instance, with someone who could write an erotic cookbook? Hang on! What did you tell them?”
“This is no time to be overly fussy, darling. We have a chance at a terrific high-profile project. You’ll get tons of media and better yet, money. Let me remind you, you can use it.”
I started to say that I hate media, but Lola was too fast for me. “Stop resisting. You need this deal desperately, and I mean that in the kindest possible way.”
“I can’t cook.”
“You can read, can’t you?”
“Of course, I can read.”
“If you can read, you can cook.”
I was pretty sure that wasn’t true, but I tried another tactic. “I have no sex life. None whatsoever. Don’t you think that might make things difficult?”
“Pay attention, darling. I represent a couple of crime writers. They don’t go around bumping people off or solving cases. Get with the program.”
I was about to say, I’m not turning out to be much of a writer, when it occurred to me I shouldn’t remind my agent of that. “Aside from my unsuitability, I wouldn’t even know where to start a project like that.”
“Start with research.”
“I don’t know anything about...”
“A bit of erotic lore, aphrodisiac foods, seasonal variations, recipes. Whip it all together, ha ha. A few anecdotes, memories. Nothing to it.”
I said, “Wait a minute, I have to know, why me for this project? Is it because of what happened with Benedict?”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t dwell on that.”
“That was murder. And now they want to splash my name all over the papers again? I’m not the kind of person who can deal with that kind of attention.”
“What you are, darling, is not the most solvent of my clients. And in this business, that’s saying something. So yes, it was my idea and, yes, the thing with what’s his name is a fabulous hook. Especially the bed part. It means you’ve got name recognition.”
“Because my lover was found dead in my four-poster, and everyone in Canada saw a clip of me on the news? That’s supposed to be a good thing?”
“Don’t complain. You know your career’s tanking. Lots of writers would kill to have this problem.”
That Lola. What a way with words.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t even get the idea of food being sexy. I can’t imagine a single sexy food.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. Food is very sexy. What about a can of whipped cream? Who doesn’t find that sexy?”
“Whipped cream? I don’t. Listen, Lola, thanks a lot, but I don’t believe I can do this project.”
“Think again, darling. I’ve got you a good advance too. I told them you have a desperately sick relative, and they coughed up a cheque. That doesn’t happen every day. Up front on signing. The contract’s on its way. I sent it yesterday by XpressPost. I’m surprised you don’t have it already.”
“Yesterday? But you hadn’t even spoken to me.”
“You should answer your phone more often. You’ll get a cheque on signing. I told them you’d be thrilled.”
“You told them what? Lola? Lola? Lola!”
I returned to the living room, somewhat dazed.
“I wouldn’t want you to break a rib, laughing like that,” I said to Liz, who seemed unable to catch her breath, once I told her Lola’s plan.
“Arrrotteeecogggbkkkk!” Liz howled before falling out of the beanbag chair with a thump.
“How can I do an erotic cookbook? It’s out of the question. Stop snickering. I mean it. You know, that’s a really unbecoming position you’re in,” I said.
She continued to wheeze.
I added, “And it does make your butt look big.”
Josey popped her head in the front door, clutching a fist full of envelopes. “What is that exactly? What she said?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Tolstoy had emerged from the cool of the basement. He greeted Josey by thumping his tail on the floor.
Liz wiped her eyes. “Now I’ve heard everything. It would
