“If Indianapolis is your home, welcome back. If you’re just visiting, then we hope you enjoy your stay.”
Until the wheels touched down and Allison’s annoying voice echoed throughout the plane, nothing had broken through my dream fog.
I sure wish I was here for a short-term visit, but fate had dealt me a different hand.
Once we’d taxied into our gate and Allison gave her final set of instructions, I stood up and cracked my head on the overhead bin.
“Perfect way to begin my journey,” I muttered to myself while checking the bin to make sure nothing had fallen out of my laptop bag. I’d left the damn thing unzipped. And since “idiot” was now my middle name, that was par for the course.
On my way to retrieve my baggage, I spotted the blessed Starbuck’s mermaid and privately praised sweet serendipity.
Perhaps all hope was not lost. The single shot of espresso included in my normal red eye just wasn’t going to cut it today. I don’t even know if a black eye could do the trick.
Noticing the juice bar next to the Starbucks, I had to laugh. If my cousin Zoey had been with me, we’d be going there too for one of her horrendous all-things-green wheat grass shots.
I, on the other hand, don’t like much of anything good for me. Including men. I had a knack for choosing losers across the board. Except in one particular area of expertise, where I’d had nothing but winners. Big-time winners.
Seeing a combination newsstand and bookstore conveniently located on the opposite side of Starbuck’s, I couldn’t pass it up. It just wasn’t in my nature to walk past a bookstore, even though I did all my reading on a Kindle.
For that matter, my world as of late seemed to revolve around all-things-Kindle and Ereaders in general. Along with my final job as a Senior Editor for one of New York’s largest publishers, I freelance edit for many of today’s hottest Indie Epub superstars.
Now that I was freelancing and getting paid well for preparing manuscripts to become Ebooks, browsing these little shops seemed like taking a stroll through the past. A past my Ex refused to let go of. Yep, he was on the TradiPub Titanic. I…had sailed on. He was going to sink along with all The Big Six publishers. I wasn’t.
In fact, I would be the perfect subject for some New York Times piece on the Epublishing World. If newspapers like The Times, firmly entrenched in the world of The Big Six - who spend major bucks advertising with them - had any interest in talking about the new reality.
Setting my carry-on bag between my feet, I freed my hands to explore the storefront racks and shelves. I focused my attention first, as I always did when beginning my perusal of a new store, on the Bestseller display. Like a child seeing his or her artwork proudly displayed on the refrigerator, I smiled triumphantly.
Four of my authors anchored down the second, third, sixth and seventh slots. Not bad for a once senior, then executive, now almost totally on her own freelance editor.
Luckily for me, my authors were selling Ebooks by the cyber-truckload. They were out of contract and had no interest in continuing to be screwed by The Big Six. They were all going Indie Epub all the way, meaning I hadn’t lost a single client and stood to gain a gazillion new ones.
I pulled up the handle of my suitcase and headed for the rental car area.
The fact that the second place author, Nicky Blane, had survived getting his last book published was not only a miracle for him but for me as well. If I’d spent one more session with him, one of us would have ended up on Death Row and the other would be buried several feet beneath the earth’s surface.
It really wouldn’t have mattered which of us received which fate, as we both would have volunteered to suffer either as long as it was at the expense of the other.
Labeling our relationship as love-hate is much too generous. There’s no love. And way too much hate.
We’re no Castle and Beckett.
Our books are the same kind of police procedural crime thrillers of that dynamic Nielsen-ratings duo, but we don’t have the made-for-TV attraction of Fillion and Katic, which is what makes that show work.
To be honest, I’m still not sure what makes Nicky Blane and I work so well together. But we have ten bestselling books that say we do…at least on paper and in E-sales.
Nicky Blane is the biggest jerk I know. In fact, I’m certain Webster had him in mind when stating the definition. And every thesaurus would be accurate using ‘Nick’ as an alternative for the word ‘asshole’.
Trying to cool off my attitude and cool down my coffee, I blew through the hole in the lid another time then sighed. What I wouldn’t give to be back in Manhattan. What I wouldn’t give to…
What?!
Not see Nicky waving at me like a suave pig from the Hertz desk. Maybe I should stop and grab an apple at the fruit stand that separated us.
Wanting to get the pain over with as soon as possible, I took a deep breath and quickened my pace to the rental car center.
Forcing a tight smile, I rolled my suitcase up and over Nicky’s foot. Oops. So yeah, I guess I wanted to inflict some pain too.
Seeing him flinch, I relaxed a bit.
Checkmate, Asshole.
But after surmising from the desk clerk that Nicky was my ride and not a rental, Nicky’s discomfort from my luggage wheel connecting with his dorsum couldn’t have come close to matching my displeasure at having to be his passenger.
The jackass had cancelled my reservation. And since Hertz was out of cars, I had no choice but to accept a ride from Nicky.
“Ahhh, Nicky. If I’d known I had to see you this soon, I would have had a least one drink on my flight.”
Maybe Pan Am Barbie was smarter than I’d given her credit for. After all, she had tried to convince me to have a cocktail.
“Better wipe that shitty grin off your face, Ms. Allwitch…I mean Ms. Aldredge. For a minute there, I thought you were actually glad to see me.” Nicky grabbed my carry-on as well as the rest of my luggage from the carousel then pointed me toward the exit doors.
“Not in this life-time, Nicky,” I said and sidestepped his reach to put more distance between us.
“It’s Nick, God damn it! My name is Nick. Not Nicky.” He moved past me and into the revolving door that spit him out toward the parking garages.
“Not according to your book covers,” I said struggling to keep up with him.
“That was your idea, Allwitch. Not mine.” He glared at me while we scrambled to make an elevator before the door slid shut.
As the door closed with him in and me out, he hollered, “Third floor. Take the next elevator or use the stairs.”
“Asshole”, I said, not giving a damn that the priest standing behind me heard it.
I stomped up the stairs.
Out of breath by the time I reached the last landing, I looked up and saw Nicky tapping his foot and studying his watch.
“Don’t you even think…about goin’ there,” I huffed and puffed, resenting the fact that he was the big bad wolf to my now aching little piggies.
I mean, really, who hustles up multiple flights of stairs in brand new Louboutins?