THE CRITIC (4 page)

“It hasn’t so far,” her father growled. “I can make it stop tomorrow.”

“Daddy, it’s my problem. I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.”

“I knew something like this would happen.  I should have never allowed your mother to influence my decision to allow you to move to
Chicago. Your wanting to write was one thing. I never thought your leaving home was a smart idea. One thing I haven’t changed my mind about is your new friends.  I don’t want you hanging around with those women in that writers’ group. They’re putting bad ideas into your head, making you write trash. We raised you as a Christian and what you want to write has nothing to do with Christianity.”

“I know, Dad.  If it’s not edifying the kingdom, it’s of no value.”  She said what he wanted to hear. What good would it do to tell him that her group had not influenced her?  That she’d smuggled romance novels to Sunday school tucked between her bible and her lessons. Talking disappointed—-He’d be even more disappointed if he knew she had a massager, and not for back rubs.

“Don’t forget our agreement,” her father continued. “It’ll soon be two years. I expect you to honor your word.  I want you to come home where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Daddy, I’m a grown woman.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re always going to be my baby.”

Toreas remembered the agreement well.  She’d known when he proposed the deal that it could be the same for her as making a deal with the devil.  When her father had challenged her to quit her job and take two years to concentrate on her writing, to become a professional in that time or stop, she’d known the risk she was taking. She knew he was aware of how many people failed after a decade of trying. Still, the offer was the best one she’d had, so she’d accepted. His monthly checks had supplemented her savings, allowing her to live in
Chicago and write full time. Living in Chicago hadn’t been part of her plan but she’d thought it best to see something more of the world than Georgia. Her mother had agreed.

A shiver trailed over her spine, bringing Toreas back to her meeting. She glanced at Becca’s scowling face and at her fiery red hair.  Hair that was so red that she could have been gifted with it only from the devil himself. That color couldn’t be found in a bottle.  It was all her own and now it appeared to be ready to burst into flames as Becca fixed her with a glare that would have melted a glacier.  If only Toreas hadn’t been thinking of her father and the deal she’d made with him, those thoughts of Becca would have never popped into her head.

“I hear you’ve been very busy making things hard for all of us. It would have been nice if you had bothered to answer any of my calls or the dozen emails I sent you.”

And it would be nice if we were having this conversation in private
, Toreas thought.  But then again, what she had done had affected the entire group, hadn’t it?

“Listen, Becca, I’m sorry and I want to apologize to the group for any embarrassment I may have inadvertently caused.”

She looked around the room, gauging the temperature, wondering if everyone was freezing her out. Some of the faces were trying hard not to smile and they almost succeeded, that is, until Kelle spoke.

“I understand you hurt yourself more than you did Jared,” Kelle said.

Toreas was pretty sure that was a smirk she saw on Kelle’s face.  “Yeah, I think I might have delivered the punch wrong.”  She was still standing as though waiting for permission to sit.

“I guess you’ll pay more attention next time.  If you hit a guy right he shouldn’t have the strength to get back up and kiss you, nor should he want to.”

Kelle’s gaze darted around the room.  Toreas noted her usually calm veneer was now agitated.  She took teaching women self-defense seriously.

The fact that the failure of one of her pupils to carry out her instructions to the letter had caused injury to the student and not the perpetrator angered her.  The entire chapter knew Kelle’s stance on this issue.

Her look was so fierce that Toreas started laughing.  She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself, not even after Becca started ringing her bell for attention.  She couldn’t stop.

Her laugh was infectious.  One after the other, the women started laughing, that is, all but Becca. With her red hair, a pitchfork would have been all that she needed to complete the look she was giving them. Yep, her look was telling them all to go straight to hell.

The woman was in league with the dark angel, the big kahuna himself, the old red one.  Satan.

Toreas sank back into a chair, staring at Becca with tears of amusement running down her face, smearing mascara in uneven tracks.  She did her best to pull herself together.

“I really am sorry.”  She bit her upper lip, needing to feel grounded, needing to stop the now almost hysterical laughter she was feeling.  Becca was glaring at her and all the women who continued to laugh.

“This isn’t funny,” she began.  “This affects all of our careers.  Think about that, ladies, while you’re laughing, smiling, or smirking.”

Becca had raised her voice but it wasn’t the tone that stopped the laughter.  It was her words.

“Toreas, you started this by going on that show.  Correction, by calling them.  We never gave a darn about the man.  Most of us had never heard of him. Now the whole world knows who he is and we’re all just one big joke.”

Toreas squirmed in her seat as Becca’s look pinned her. 

“Those readers you wanted to defend, do you think you’ve helped them?  I’ll tell you the answer.  No.  Now they’ll have to go back to hiding romance books in brown paper bags.”

Brown paper bags?
 
Where
does Becca get this stuff
? 
No one uses paper bags anymore, they use plastic. 
The image
of a group of romance readers hiding their books was hysterical. It was only with strong-willed determination that Toreas didn’t start laughing again.

She had hoped that Becca was done.  No such luck.  It seemed she had only paused long enough to allow what she was saying to sink in.

“Toreas, you’re an adult, not a three-year-old. You should know how to control your temper.”

“I thought it was only in fiction that people can be perfectly controlled,” Toreas answered.  “I thought a real person is allowed to be imperfect.”

“What are you talking about?”

Toreas watched as one by one Becca froze them all with a glare, and then sat back in her seat.

Okay, she had to stop being childish. It wasn’t fair to try and blame her friends for not supporting her when what’d she’d done was affecting all of them.  They were a great bunch of women and she was lucky to have them as part of her support system.

Only right now she could feel her support giving way as though it had been built on sand, and she didn’t like the feeling.

She was aware of what they all wanted her to do.  It seemed a simple enough thing, to go back on the show and tell Jared Stone she was wrong.  If it would end there, maybe, just maybe, she would consider it.

But she doubted that had ever been Jared’s intention and now that he’d gotten national attention, there was no way he was going to let her off with a simple apology.

Toreas licked her lips, eyeing the huge bottle of water that Lauren brought with her to each meeting and wishing she could have a drop.

There wasn’t even any spit in her mouth.  How the heck could she go back on television when she couldn’t even talk to her group?

She cleared her throat several times and sighed loudly.  “I can’t go back, he would crucify me.  I couldn’t even talk when I was there.”

Liz glanced over at her.  “She’s right, Becca.  When you see the tape you’ll see she sat glued to her seat, scared to death.”

“Yeah, she couldn’t even name our group or tell him what it stands for. The most basic things she couldn’t even answer. It was pretty disgusting.”

Thanks a lot, Wendy.  Was that supposed to be support
?  Toreas wanted more than anything to glare at Wendy, but for now she decided to let it go. 

Now not only was her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth  but it seemed her butt was glued to the chair. She wiggled trying to get comfortable, wanting something to drink.  She eyed Lauren’s water again.  She didn’t feel her legs would carry her to the fountain in the hall. God, what she wouldn’t give for a drink right now.

“Can’t you just write him a note?”

Elysa was staring at her with something akin to contempt.  Toreas stared back.  “I supposed I could.  What would I say?”

“You’re a writer, use your imagination.”

Becca turned in her direction. “It’s agreed then. You’ll write the man a note and get him off our backs.”

“I’ll write the note, but remember, he was on our backs before any of this happened.”

One after the other she could feel rather than see the women looking at her, thinking that if she just wrote the note the problem would go away.

Fine
, she thought
. I’ll write the darn note. Then they’ll see it won’t matter
. They were still looking at her. She kept forgetting people couldn’t read her mind. “Okay, I’ll write the note.”

“Now that that’s settled we’ll move along with the business portion of our meeting.”

Becca appeared pacified for the moment and was now smiling her usual cheery smile.  Toreas had no idea what the meeting was about.  She only knew she felt backed into a corner.

Her only support had come from her friend calling her a coward. At least it was better than Wendy practically calling her stupid and Toreas was still smarting over that comment.  When the rustle of bodies and chairs being shoved back caught her attention, she knew the meeting was over.

“So are you coming with us to the restaurant?”

It was Lauren.  Toreas looked at her and at the partially empty bottle of water that was now nestled in Lauren’s arm.  For some strange reason she wanted to rip the bottle away and pour the remainder of the contents on the woman’s head.

She didn’t know why, just that she wanted to do it.  Instead she smiled.  “No, not tonight, I’m going to go home and write that note.”
And try and figure out where this sudden violent streak is coming from, s
he thought.
Lust for Jared Stone.
The words slammed into her mind and she groaned, praying that wasn’t the reason for her odd behavior.

True to her word, the moment Toreas was home she did as she’d promised. She wrote Jared a note.  She chose plain white stationary, the cheap kind she had stopped using eons ago. The ends were yellowed with age but she didn’t care. That was all Jared Stone deserved.

Mr. Stone,

I’m sorry that you’re the rudest person I’ve ever met, and that I allowed you to antagonize me to the point of violence. I’m also sorry that you appear to have nothing better to do with your time than to harass romance writers and readers. Perhaps you do this because you’ve never been loved. Could that be the reason, Mr. Stone?  Did some woman find your disagreeable behavior a real turn off? Are you more the villain than the hero? Think about it.

As for our little mishap, I’ve assigned to myself ten percent blame as one of the responsible parties involved in your unfortunate incident. The other ninety goes to you.

Sincerely,

Toreas Rose.

Toreas reread her note and laughed, knowing there was no way she could possibly send it. She pulled out another sheet of paper and wrote a real note of apology. It was short, quick and to the point. “
I’m sorry for my bad behavior.
” She shook her head and left the note on the table. She’d take the final step and put it in the envelope later. Right before she went to bed she could put it off no longer. She hastily grabbed what she’d written and without bothering to check, crammed it in the even more yellowed envelope and licked it shut, making a face from the awful taste of the glue.  “That’s as much of an apology as you’re going to get, Mr. Stone,” she muttered out loud.

To her surprise she found herself caressing his name on the front of the envelope. She suddenly felt hot and found it hard to swallow. She pushed the envelope away from her. 
Whatever you want, Jared Stone, you’re not going to get it
.

Chapter Three

Jared Stone sat in his office reading his sudden influx of fan mail.  He would have to thank that Ms. Priss, Toreas Rose.  Prior to that, his fledgling career at a two bit independent station had been about to come to an end. Derrick wasn’t making enough money to keep paying him what he was getting. Now there was new blood and renewed interest. And with that interest new sponsors had picked up
Straight Up—No Chaser
.

Heck, he’d only taken the job to get him out of
Los Angeles.  What he knew about hosting a talk show was about as much as that Rose woman knew about romance. 

She had been nothing like he expected. He had watched her from the moment she came on the stage. From the fury of her calls he had expected some Amazon to come storming out.  Instead, what he saw was a timid, mousy little woman who sat with her feet tucked under her and looked scared to death, as if she thought the camera was aimed under her skirt. True, he could tell that with major overhaul the woman would be a knockout. But he wasn’t looking for a knockout, he was looking to obliterate the romance writer. 

Still, her golden bronze skin was the stuff millions of women spent tons of money and hours in the sun to acquire. Hers was natural, as was her hair that she was wearing in a throwback to the sixties.  On her the curly afro looked wonderful and she had to know that.  So he wondered at the contradictions in the woman. He’d looked at the way she tugged on her overly long skirt while glaring at the camera. He’d frowned at the hideous oversized sweater the woman had worn. The other women had reeked of femininity, but not Toreas Rose. She reeked of vagabond, waif, homeless, and he’d be damn if he hadn’t found her intriguing, especially her fascination with the camera.

She’d treated the thing as if it were the enemy out to steal her virginity. She kept glaring at it as though she thought someone was trying to get a shot underneath that skirt she kept tugging at. Even if it had been aimed in that direction, the cameraman would have had to do some fancy footwork to get a shot beneat
h all that billowing material. The darn skirt was so long it nearly dragged the floor, even when she was standing.

Jared tapped his finger on the desk, remembering when he’d first locked gazes with Toreas. The woman had stopped her fussing and stared straight ahead at him, their eyes locking for a moment, long enough for Jared to think to himself,
Wow, I had it wrong, she isn’t mousy at all
.

But the moment had passed as the intensity of the woman’s stare burned straight through him.  Her glare was personal and he wondered why.

True, he had been taking potshots at romance writers and readers for months, but his reasons were his own.  He had never planned to turn it into a full scale war.  He was only venting until he got over…

No, he wouldn’t think about that.  He would only think about how much fun he was having tormenting the hapless woman.  The woman intrigued him and it had nothing to do with her looks.  First, she’d called and demanded that he be stopped.  Then when she was given an opportunity to talk, she froze.

Without warning she’d punched him.  He’d seen that she was every bit as surprised as he was.  But for some reason the woman refused to apologize. There was more to her than met the eye.  He didn’t think she was as helpless as she appeared at first glance.

Jared looked down at the latest letter he had received from yet another romance writer.  They were coming out of the woodwork.

If he had known there were so many of them maybe he would have had a better battle plan before he began his attack. Maybe he would have included a way to surrender without losing. Part of him felt sorry for the women and Toreas Rose in particular. But ratings were ratings. And he did owe Derrick a favor. Not only that, he really wanted his friend to make a go of his station.

Jared exhaled noisily, running the scenario over and over in his mind. Maybe he should leave the romance writers alone. But then again, they were indirectly responsible for ruining his life.  He deserved a little harmless revenge.

The women were definitely keeping him amused.  To date he had received over a hundred letters from women all over the country.  At least a dozen of them came from the same chapter,  the one Toreas Rose was a member of.  They were all apologizing for her behavior, calling it unforgivable.

He couldn’t help noticing that not one of the women mentioned his behavior, how badly he had treated the women, or the hostility he’d created when he stepped in front of Toreas Rose.  And no, not even his boss had admonished him for kissing her.

Jared had expected another punch, had even been prepared for it but it never came.  For a brief second she’d merely looked at him. Then her eyes went cold and he released her.

He was beginning to feel a familiar warmth creeping up on him but he refused to allow it free rein. Yet he could not keep his tongue from coming out of his mouth and slowly traversing the length of his lips as though searching for the taste of her.

The kiss had been brief but memorable. The woman had soft full lips. He smiled. They were also sweet, reminding him of fresh washed strawberries.

Okay, that’s far enough
.
He stood and paced around the room, needing to release the sudden restriction in his throat and elsewhere.

He didn’t want this woman.  Only a darn fool would even have the thoughts he was having, but heaven help him, he was having them.

A romance writer? No way, no way.  Not after what they’d done to him. In taking Gina from him they’d taken away his opportunity to fulfill his promise to his mother. She’d never asked for much from him, just for him to get married and give her grandchildren before she died.

He’d known it was motherly manipulation, but still, he’d given her the promise. Why not?  His mother was as healthy as a horse. It had only been when she’d turned up the guilt that he’d convinced himself that he cared enough for Gina to marry her and give his mother grandchildren.

Two weeks after Gina’s betrayal his mother had been killed in a car accident, leaving Jared feeling guilty for having never fulfilled his promise. Of course common sense told him his mother’s death was a tragic accident and that even if he’d married Gina there would not have been time to give his mother the grandchildren she’d wanted. Still, unbearable grief over losing her had made him focus on his promise to her. He’d been close to both parents, and after his father died suddenly of a massive heart attack, Jared had grown even closer to his mother. After the accident he’d needed someone to blame for his failure to keep his promise, whether they deserved it or not, he’d blamed romance writers for taking Gina from him, thus robbing him of the chance to produce the grandchildren his mother had wanted. 

Sure, the past weeks had been a lot of fun and he’d called in a lot of favors to go national, but now it was getting dangerous.  He was beginning to feel again.  It was time to stop the game. Jared turned as his office door opened and Derrick rushed in, his face red with excitement, a bag clutched in his arms.

“Jared, you won’t believe it.  Another bag of mail just came for you.  Man, you’ve gotten more mail in the past two weeks than this entire station has received in two years.  You’re a hit.”

Jared peered at Derrick.  “Don’t you know how to knock?”  He wasn’t really annoyed at the intrusion but at himself for what he’d been thinking.

He watched as his boss, the owner of the station, looked down toward the floor as though he were a little kid being scolded. He’d forgotten how sensitive Derrick was in certain areas.

“Sorry about that, man.  I just got excited,” Derrick apologized.

“We’ve gotten all the mileage we’re going to get out of this.” Jared paused, knowing how his next words would be received. “I’m thinking of backing off, leaving the women alone.”

“But you can’t.  I’ve taken out a full page Ad in both the
Chicago Tribune
and the
Sun Times
, an opinion poll asking people to vote if they think she should come back on the show.”

“There’s no way she’s going to do that.”  Jared ignored the hitch in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter; the whole thing will give us more publicity.  Advertisers are even calling, wanting time on your show. Man, this feud is turning into a real cash cow.”

Jared gazed at his friend. He had been the one to rescue him from the hell his life had become in
Los Angeles. He’d visited when he realized what a deep depression Jared had sunk into after his mother’s death. He’d begged Jared to help him out with his struggling independent television station by coming back to Chicago and hosting a show. They’d both known what Derrick was doing. He’d made up a job for Jared to get him out of L. A., to help him come out of his depression.  He looked at the pleasure beaming from the man’s ruddy cheeks.  How could he deny him a chance to make a go of his dreams? The feud with the writers was bringing money to the station.

A tiny ping of conscience nagged at him. He was positive Toreas Rose was receiving some flack from this. He could tell from the comments in the letters. He would feel like a real heel if he didn’t try once again to dissuade Derrick.

“Listen, what if what we’re doing actually ends up hurting the woman?  I never intended it to go this far. I only wanted to push the romance writers a little, you know, make them squirm.”

Even as he said it he knew that wasn’t what he’d been after. He’d wanted the women to admit that sometimes the stories they wrote broke up relationships, that after reading romance some women might become bored with reality and want something new and different, maybe even a man who looked like a cover model.

It wasn’t far-fetched. That’s what had happened with Gina.  In the beginning Jared hadn’t known about her addiction. He’d found out Gina was a voracious romance reader when out of the blue the writers held a conference in Los Angeles and had a contest to choose a hunky male for one of those bodice ripper novels.

The writers had used good promo.  Jared had to admit to that. They’d even hired the firm he worked for to get the guys in town interested in coming out and posing. Jared hadn’t been able to believe at first how many men wanted to be featured on those covers. 

Anyway, the writers had secured a suite at the Bali, one of the most prestigious hotels in town and had charged the women who attended fifty bucks a pop, serving them only champagne punch and cheese and crackers, but offering them the opportunity to see the beefcake parade and vote for their choice of best male hunk out of a field of 200 male models or model wannabees.

Gina had wasted no time in buying a ticket for the event. After seeing the buffed guys strutting their stuff, she’d fallen in love with one of the male models.  

So yes, Jared had good reason to hate the writers. He’d been on the verge of telling Gina that he wanted to make their relationship exclusive, that he thought he might be falling in love with her.  That is, he was thinking he might be, but he never got the chance to find out. Gina was suddenly gone from his life, just like that.

Her departure sent his confidence into the toilet. But it was his mother’s death two weeks later that sent him into a deep depression. His unfulfilled promise to her weighed heavily on his heart. Derrick’s visit had been nothing less than a godsend.  The last thing he’d wanted to do was remain in a town with Gina, the woman, who could have been the one to help him keep his promise and the man with the toothpaste ad grin.

To add to the irony, because of his involvement with the event, Jared might have been the one who sent the guy over to the writers’ convention in the first place.  He hadn’t bothered to find out.  It would have been too much like pouring salt into an open wound.

“Are you listening to me, Jared?”

Jared closed his eyes and shook his head gently to dislodge the memories. He owed Derrick. “Yeah, I’m listening.”

“Well, listen to this.  So what if the women’s feelings get a little bent out of shape?  In the long run
this will help their careers. They’ll probably all sell tons of books.”

Jared attempted to smile. “You’re probably right, but I was just thinking of something that woman Liz said. She said they worked hard to make people understand what they do, that they’re not just a bunch of bored, air-head housewives.”

“Who cares?  Our ratings are hitting the roof.”

Jared speared his friend with a look and tried again to back off. “Shouldn’t we care?  This doesn’t feel like fun anymore.”

Derrick was glaring at him, wringing his hands.  Jared watched as the veins began to pop out on his neck.

“You owe me, man.”

Jared walked toward him. “Don’t pull that on me.”

Jared stopped when he saw the fear enter Derrick’s eyes.  Oh yes, this had all gone much too far. He smiled weakly at him, and then smoothed his hand down the side of his slacks trying to push away the thought of what he knew he was about to do. “You’re right, I do owe you.”

“I shouldn’t have used that on you. I’m sorry about that. But I thought you wanted to get back at Gina. I’m the one helping you with your little vendetta.”

Derrick was fast talking him.  Jared knew that, but it was working.  It was making him forget the honey brown woman with the short afro and the strawberry-flavored lips and remember instead the conniving blonde bombshell who’d left him cold.  Maybe Derrick was right, maybe a few more weeks of this wouldn’t hurt anyone.