Another Notch in the Beltway Read online

  “He wants to come out as a man? What was he before, a really big ferret?”

  Her agent was laughing again. “Lenore, please be serious for a minute. You know a lot of male romance writers only use their initials or gender-neutral names. Heck, some even take on a totally female persona for their pseudonym.”

  “You mean Lisa Marie Rice is a man, not a woman?” Lenore asked. “That’s why all the guys hate oral sex until they meet that special chick.”

  “I don’t know if Lisa Marie Rice is a he, she, or it. I’m trying to talk about MP.”

  “Got it. Michael Patrick wants to come out as a man and co-author a book with a known female romance writer. In this case, me. How does he feel about that? From what little I know of him, he writes contemporary romance.”

  “I haven’t asked him yet; I figured I’d talk to you before I say anything to him. Plus, I need to see if your publisher would even consider it.”

  Lenore was silent, then said, “Do your thing. Talk to Finnegan and the publisher. In the meantime, I’ll read a few of his books over the next couple of days and get back to you, but yes, I’m interested.”

  “Good.”

  That settled, they went on to talk about other industry happenings.

  Chapter Four

  Lenore purchased three of MP Finnegan’s books. They were edgy and fast paced both in and out of bed. Even without knowing MP was Michael Patrick, she would have guessed the writer was male by the heavy usage of cock, pussy, cunt, and fuck. Not that female writers didn’t use those words as well, but male writers tended to use them literally and almost exclusively. Plus, there were lines like, “She took his cock deeply in her throat and sucked him with the proficiency of a well-practiced whore. Marisa didn’t even flinch when he came full throttle, hot and thick in her mouth. When he finished, she looked at him vapidly and licked him clean, savoring every drop of his cum.”

  LaSandra Lacy would have written something more like, “Genevieve took his swollen, pulsing manhood in her bee-stung lips and suckled him hungrily. Before he came, he pulled her to him and whispered huskily, ‘Evie, I want to be inside you, make love to you.’”

  But was it male versus female or contemporary versus historic? She’d have to think about that some more.

  MP stopped before what she called the squirm factor. Meaning the point where one might start to feel oneself flushed, wet, and overtly sexually aroused to the point of needing release. Some of the good erotic writers had left her feeling that way. Yeah, she thought wistfully, recalling some of those scenes were about the only way she’d come with John Irving.

  Maybe that could be the plot line of a new book, getting rid of Mr. Gray and meeting Mr. Makes Me Squirm. She laughed. It would be great fun to write something truly visceral. Lenore liked the idea. It had potential.

  She’d told Nikko that she’d have an answer for her today. Throwing caution to the wind, she decided to do it. “La Sandra Lacy and MP Finnegan team up to write… Write what? I guess that is to be determined,” she answered herself, picking up the phone.

  Chapter Five

  Between Lenore’s schedule, MP’s, and Nikko’s, it was three weeks before they could finally meet. In that time, she’d read all eight of Finnegan’s books and a number of other contemporary and erotic romances.

  When she was done, she had decided two things: MP’s writing was decidedly male, and there was a fine line between the squirm factor and the yuck factor.

  Lenore also thought she’d prefer to do a contemporary romance that bordered on erotic but wasn’t quite there. Of course, she would need to collaborate with MP on that. She was looking forward to meeting him. She wondered what he looked like. In her experience, Irish men came in two molds. The first was short, round, and full of blarney, and the second was tall, ruggedly handsome, and full of intensity, with or without the blarney thrown in. She didn’t need any blarney in her life.

  They were having lunch at Michael’s, a well-known New York City restaurant for agents and writers. Lenore was the first to arrive and sat so she could see the incoming patrons. Nikko joined her a few minutes later.

  “What’s MP like?” Lenore asked, shifting in her seat to look at Nikko.

  “I’m not going to tell you. I want you to form your own impression. I will tell you he’s very handsome: tall, dark wavy hair, blue eyes, easy to look at.”

  “You have a thing for him or with him?”

  “Heavens, no,” Nik snorted a laugh. “First of all, he’s my client; second, he’s not my type; and third, without sounding too un-PC, he’s not Jewish.”

  “I didn’t think you even practiced your faith.”

  “I don’t, it’s an ingrained cultural thing. Plus, Jews tolerate one another’s idiosyncrasies better than non-Jews.”

  “Okay,” Lenore said, raising her eyebrows, still amused.

  “We are a strange lot, Lenore.”

  “No stranger than Catholics.”

  “Well, both religions are seemingly founded on guilt,” Nikko mused.

  The women laughed.

  With that, Lenore saw an extremely attractive man approaching the table. He smiled and kissed Nikko on the cheek.

  “Michael Patrick Finnegan,” he said extending his hand.

  “Lenore Held.” She took his proffered hand.

  “Sure and I’m delighted to meet you.” He continued looking her directly in the eyes, smiling like he meant it and holding her hand a beat too long in a warm, strong embrace.

  A charmer. Lenore had met several over the years, recalling one more clearly than all the others, her son’s father. She’d need to guard her heart and her chastity, VR speak, from this man. Nonetheless, he was intriguing.

  MP sat, still beaming a high-wattage smile at the women. He spoke with a lyrical accent to boot. “I’m the luckiest man here today, having lunch with two lovely lasses such as yourselves.”

  “Cut the crap, Michael Patrick,” Nikko said. Then she turned to Lenore. “This guy is full of Irish bullshit; watch him.”

  “Count on it.”

  They ordered lunch and got down to business.

  Nikko started, “MP wants to write a book with a well-known female romance writer to come out of the closet—”

  “I don’t think you need to put it quite that way,” Finnegan interrupted.

  “Of course I do; it makes it seem more sordid and noteworthy,” she cut back in. “And Lenore wants to do a contemporary romance, hot and steamy bordering on erotica or, as she calls it, the squirm factor.”

  Michael Patrick looked directly at Lenore with expressively raised eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  Lenore maintained eye contact, managed not to blush, and nodded.

  “And might I ask, lass, what the squirm factor is?” He asked a touch of amusement playing on his full mouth.

  “If you have to ask—” Lenore started.

  “She’ll tell you in a more appropriate setting,” Nikki said, cutting her off. Which was fine because she didn’t want to explain anyway.

  Finnegan continued to smile. “I think I’d enjoy working with you, lass.”

  Dimples, too, Lenore thought. Quite a package.

  Their agent continued, “I’ve talked to the publisher and they’d consider looking at a collaborative work, only because you two are so well known and have popular appeal. But they want to see several sample chapters before they make any commitments. Do you think such a collaboration could work?”

  “Sure, don’t you agree, Lenore?” MP asked.

  “I’m willing to give it a try,” she answered.

  “Good, now to financial arrangements should the project get picked up. It might be a bit premature but I’d like all the issues addressed up front.” Nikko began.

  “I thought we’d split the profits 50/50 with you taking your usual percentage, Nik,” Lenore offered.

  “But, lass, I know you make a fair bit more than I do,” MP said without ego.

  “It doesn’t matter; it’s a neat clean
transaction that way. Plus, I don’t know a thing about contemporary romance. Presumably you, on the other hand, MP, know a thing or two about being a man.”

  “Yes, a thing or two,” he agreed, amused. “Perhaps one day I’ll even show you.” His brogue was heavier now and mischief danced in his cloudless blue eyes.

  Lenore smiled back but thought, yes, I’ll have to watch this one.

  Chapter Six

  Several weeks later, MP and Lenore/LaSandra met at her Yardley home. She had a large office and they had decided it was as good a place as any to brainstorm and plan what they were going to do and how. He was staying at the Hampton Suites, only a couple miles from her house.

  Addy was fluttering like a butterfly on speed in a purple silky batik top.

  “Stop already,” Lenore told her.

  Addy looked at her questioningly.

  “You’re flitting around for no reason. Go and read some fan letters, update the web site, do something before I shoot you.”

  “Sorry, La, I’m excited to meet Michael Patrick Finnegan. I’ve read all his books, and they are so yum.”

  Lenore rolled her eyes and shuddered. You’d never believe that Addy had a brain in her head if all you did was listen to her speak, but she was very bright and competent, so as much as she annoyed her, Lenore tolerated her eccentricities.

  “Save your yum for him, and get some work done. Have you made the changes to the first three chapters of Moon Over the Garden?” She had a little secret that she shared with no one. All of her titles had the word moon in them somewhere. It was her little joke, moon was for the bare butts that were often exposed in the moonlight, thus the titles of her books Moon Over the Garden, Under the Full Moon, Midnight Moon, Cloudy Moon, Moon Over Westcliff Castle, and so on. If anyone ever discovered her secret, they’d probably excommunicate her from the Romance Writers Association. She smiled.

  Addy had been speaking, and she had heard not a word, “I’m sorry, Addison, what did you say?”

  “Yes, the chapters are edited, and they should be on your computer.”

  “Thanks.” She turned back to her computer and went to work.

  Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Addy all but skipped to get it.

  She could hear her admin’s excited voice talking to MP. Lenore smiled, sure that the woman would be swooning over him at any moment.

  “I’ve been with Ms. Lacy for five years now, and it’s been wonderful,” Addy gushed as she entered the office.

  “Ms. Lacy, Mr. Finnegan is here.”

  “Please call me MP,” he said to her.

  Addison giggled and blushed. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Lenore couldn’t remember the last time Addy offered to bring her coffee.

  “I’m fine, lass, but thank you all the same.”

  Yup, the swoon was coming any second now.

  “Addison, I’d like a cup, thanks,” Lenore said, more for spite than anything.

  “Grand place you have here, Ms. Lacy,” MP said, smiling.

  “Please, it’s Lenore. For some reason, Addy insists on keeping in character.”

  “Hmm.” He smiled.

  “Here’s your coffee, Ms. Lacy; is there anything else?”

  “We’ll be fine thanks, Addy.”

  She left closing the door behind her.

  One wall of the office was comprised totally of French doors that led to a deck with a stairway going down, overlooking her backyard and pool. MP was taking in the view.

  “I love the pool and often work outside. I’m always dismayed when summer ends and the pool has to be closed for the winter,” Lenore said, noticing his gaze.

  “Summer girl, are you?”

  “Yes, there’s something about being able to be outside in the light until nine o’clock. I hate the cold and dark of late fall and winter.”

  “I’m distracted by the sun myself. It’s rainy and misty a lot in Dublin. When the sun is out, I like to go into the country and feel the warmth of its rays on my face.” Then turning back to the room, he added, “I like your office, too.”

  The space was well appointed with heavy, rich walnut furniture and comfortable, overstuffed, distressed leather chairs and couches. There were bookcases filled to overflowing and books, stacked artfully, topped with glass that served as coffee and end tables.

  “It gives me sanctuary from the rest of the crazy world.”

  “Everyone needs a private hideaway now and again. Mine, too, is my office.”

  “Come sit,” she said motioning with a slim graceful hand.

  They each sat on a chair that flanked the flagstone fireplace.

  He steepled his chin on his two index fingers and looked at her. She returned his gaze, his eyes intent on hers.

  “Your eyes are beautiful, lass. They change like rare opals when the light hits them, sometimes blue, sometimes green, and sometimes an intoxicating mix of the two.”

  She looked at him for a moment, said nothing, then offered, “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said as the pink blush tinted her cheeks.

  “Have you given any thought as to how you want to tackle this project?” she asked, totally ignoring his comment.

  “Yes, many, in fact. I’m sure you have as well.” He winked at her.

  She simply continued. “You’re right. But this is your genre so, at least for now, I’m going to defer to your expertise.”

  “At least for now? At some point do you intend to become the alpha on the project?”

  She actually thought about her choice of words. “I should warn you I sometimes have a tendency to take over. I’m fairly independent and do what I want to do.”

  “And the consequences be damned?”

  She paused and remembered how she had thought she knew best when it came to her son’s father, then spoke, “Yes, but I take responsibility for the consequences.”

  “I’m sure you do.” he replied evenly, watching her shift in her seat and changed the subject. “Why don’t we switch off? I’ll give an idea, and then you’ll give one. More of a give-and-take.”

  “Sure, let me get a notepad. I’ll write the ideas down. Kind of like a brainstorming session. You first,” she said as she sat down again, pad and pen in hand.

  She crossed her long legs out of habit. They were clad in black leggings and on top she wore a black ruched tunic that showed a hint of cleavage. Lenore watched his eyes start at her bare feet with their pink painted toes and travel unashamedly up her body.

  “No laptop or tablet?” he asked when his eyes finally settled on her face again.

  “Not for this. If you want a copy, I’ll make you one, or if you can’t read my handwriting, I’m sure Addy would willingly put it in Word for you.” She gave him a placid smile, hoping her face was not bright red, inflamed as the rest of her was starting to feel.

  “She’s a fan. She told me,” he commented, his eyes not leaving her face.

  “Yes, but I’m sure that’s the reaction you’ll get a lot once you come out of the closet. Are you sure you and the women in your life are ready for that?”

  “I’m kind of a homebody, so a few adoring fans at a book signing shouldn’t be too hard to handle. There are no women in my life, at present. I think coming out as a man will help sales. People, I’m guessing mostly women, will want to get a man’s take on romance.

  “Money.” It was a statement.

  “Yes, money, lass, it makes the world go round.”

  “It does at that, laddie.”

  He laughed, and then grew serious. “I have medical bills that are threatening to bankrupt me. My nephew had a brain tumor, and my sister didn’t have the funds for private doctors and hospitals. You know, we have socialized medicine in Ireland, and my nephew was ruled a hopeless case, so getting him anything but hospice care was out of the question. I paid for his surgery and treatment. He beat the cancer only to be killed in an automobile accident along with my sister. He was ten.”


  She gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks, but I’d do it all over again. I don’t have children of my own, but I can’t imagine loving a child more than if he was mine.”

  His eyes welled up and held hers; he was not embarrassed to let her see the raw emotion that dwelled there. Most men would have looked away and quickly changed the subject, most women, too, for that matter.

  Lenore, her own eyes filling but still locked on his, said again gently, “MP, I’m sorry. I had no idea. If anything happened to my son, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “I didn’t know you had a son.”

  “Yes, he’s a senior at Georgetown, going to Yale Law next year. I’m very proud of him. He’s the light of my life.”

  MP smiled warmly, a real smile and not the high-voltage stage smile. “It seems like you have good reason to be proud.”

  She gave a Mona Lisa smile and thought, there’s more to this man than the package reveals. He’s warm, compassionate, and has a sense of family. Can’t judge a book by its cover flitted through her mind.

  “Okay, you were going to tell me what you were thinking about relative to our book collaboration.” She wanted to get back on track; she had no intention of getting personal this quickly. When working closely with another individual, it’s natural that personal stories and secrets come out but not in the first twenty minutes.

  MP began, “I was thinking that whatever story we decide to tell, it would be fun for you to write the female parts and for me to write the male parts. Like a back-and-forth and together kind of thing.”

  Lenore began. “Something like: When he dropped her off, he kissed her breathless and stupid on the porch. Then simply disengaged and loped back to his car on those long, strong, sexy legs, leaving her panting and aroused. And you’d write: He kissed her hard and left her wanting more. He knew it. He would have taken more. Jesus, he needed more as his cock painfully reminded him in the tight jeans, but he knew he had to make her want it, want him. So he’d left her stupefied, hot, and wet.”

  “Yes, exactly, very good, Ms. Lacy. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I thought it might be fun to write about a couple who is doing exactly what we’re doing, collaborating on a book or some other project. One thing leads to another, and you know the rest. I think that would have potential in the marketplace, especially once you come out.”